The Midas Mission
by justok
Summary: While supervising the drop of a lost cultures recovery team, James T. Kirk accidentally encounters technology that changes his understanding of his role and his crew.
1. Getting the Midas Touch

Chapter 1  
Getting the Midas Touch

Jim Kirk turned slowly, inspecting the away team's base camp. _She said she'd be in the tent,_ he thought, _but there are ten. I don't have time for this._ An enlisted man exited the largest tent. Seeing the captain, he jumped to attention.

"Adda," Jim asked, "have you seen Lieutenant Uhura?"

"Yes, sir," Adda replied saluting. "She's in there, sir," he added, nodding awkwardly the way he'd come.

"Thanks," Jim said and started to the tent. Still saluting, Adda grabbed the tent flap with his left hand and held it back. "Thanks," Jim said again. The enlisted man blushed and nodded proudly. Jim thought, _Giotto does this to annoy me. I keep telling him I don't like saluting all the time,_ but said, "I got this; you can go about your, whatever you were doing."

Adda snapped, "Yes, sir," but didn't relax. Jim sighed and returned the salute as he went inside. He quickly spotted Uhura's red uniform among the technicians' coveralls. He waved, but she was paying attention to the tricorder she held over a table of dirty pottery and missed it.

He tapped her shoulder. "Ready to go?" he asked. The planet was hot, muddy, and dull, and he was eager to leave it.

Uhura looked up from her tricorder and frowned. "Already? I've barely started," she said.

"I know, I know," he nodded, "you're fascinated, this is an amazing opportunity, etc., etc., but it's time to go."

"It's frustrating," she said.

He shrugged. "It's back to the communication board for you, lieutenant."

"You could at least try to sound a little sorry." she laughed. "You don't care for lost culture reconstruction, but many of us enjoy it."

"Tell whoever is in charge to send you updates. In your spare time, you can single-handedly translate this whole language. Call it Uhurian and use it to reconstruct the history of the planet in rhyming verse if you want. I'll be very supportive, as long as you do it off shift."

She shook her head at him, trying not to smile.

Kirk walked around the long table, inspecting the recovered artifacts, each carefully labeled. "Look," he said, "here's a whole pile of stuff. Take something with writing on it; it'll keep you busy."

"No!" yelled a technician, reaching protectively toward the treasures with all four of his arms.

"No?" asked the captain, pretending to be disappointed.

"No, sir, uh, please," the scientist said.

"Well, if you're sure," the captain said with a sigh. "Sorry, Uhura, I guess the language won't be named Uhurian." She rolled her eyes. He laughed, "Come on. They've got work to do, and we've got a starship to catch."

She closed up her tricorder and followed him out of the tent. "How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" he asked innocently.

"How do you always know exactly the thing to say that will most bother someone? It's uncanny."

"It comes with command," he said smugly. "A good leader knows what people need to hear."

She shook her head, disapprovingly. "You should stop teasing people."

"People should stop being so easy to tease," he laughed. "Theakhi is too serious."

"He'd be pretty poor at his job if he didn't take it seriously," she replied, stepping gingerly over a slimy-looking rock. The camp and beam-up site were a (Jim thought ridiculously) safe distance from each other. To reach one from the other required a wet walk through a surrounding marsh.

He offered Uhura his arm; she slapped it away, saying, "I am perfectly capable of walking by myself."

He looked hurt. "Miss Uhura, I am very aware of your many strengths. Did you ever consider that I might have been asking for help? I can't believe you're going to make me beg."

She fought down a smile and shook her head. "I can't believe there are women that find you charming."

"Oh, there are." He winked and added. "Lots."

She snorted. One of the things Jim liked about her was the way, off the bridge and out of other's earshot, she treated him like a normal person, the fun and mildly annoying guy he'd been before he'd become a hero. On the Enterprise, there weren't many people he could let do that.

Even walking carefully, her heel got stuck in the mud. She nearly fell, and dirty water splashed into her boot. She made a disgusted face. "Fine," she said. "We'll help each other."

She took his arm. The water got deeper as they walked. "This is disgusting," she said. "I hate not being able to see what I'm stepping on."

"Tell me about the team's work," he suggested.

"You're not interested in their work," she said tartly.

"No," he agreed, "But I am interested in distracting you."

She laughed, "Let's see; the main building is the best preserved. The remains of the small houses around it are barely observable. It's as if the big one was the only building designed to be permanent. It must have been significant in the culture; perhaps a temple. What else would be as important?"

"That a big assumption," he said, "Maybe it was a school or the military headquarters. Who knows what they valued? We probably won't know for years." A rock shifted below his foot. She pulled away as he pitched forward. Trying to catch himself, he overcorrected and plopped into the muddy water. He jumped up quickly, slid, staggered, and fell again, this time face-first.

"Why, why, why didn't I have my tricorder on?" she laughed. "People would pay thousands of credits for vid of that."

He grinned and splashed a little water at her. She recoiled, slid, and almost fell too, but he jumped up to catch her. They held onto each other, laughing until they were stable.

"Look," she laughed, pointing to his Starfleet issue pack, sitting in the dark water.

"Not a big deal, it's not like it's gonna get me wet." He grabbed the pack, made a show of pouring water out of it, then started to check the contents. "Oh no," he muttered and bending down, began pawing through the dark water.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It wasn't fastened. Everything spilled. Help me look."

"Ugh, this is repulsive," she said, reaching into the warm dirty water and gingerly pulling up the wrapper from a breakfast ration. "Just let it go. The planet's deserted, there's no one here to have their culture changed by finding the stuff."

He frowned and felt around in the mud. "I need my communicator."

"Why?" she asked doubtfully. "It's wet. It won't work."

"That's not the point," he said, pulling another handful of detritus from the muck.

"What," she began, but he said, "Here it is," and pulled something wet and shiny from the water.

"That's not it," she said.

"No," he agreed. "You're right. I'm not sure what this is."

He turned the thing over, studying it. It was similar in size and shape to a communicator. Divets, arranged in orderly rows, ran along the gray surface. Curious, he squeezed it. It compressed slightly and his fingers tingled. He pressed harder. The sensation faded, then flared suddenly and radiated to his other joints, settling in his knees. It wasn't painful, just a faint fluttering, different than anything else he had ever experienced.

"More pottery?" Uhura asked, "or is it metal?"

"No," he said, holding the thing up to watch it glitter in the sun.

She shrugged. "Forget the communicator; I've got one."

"I guess," he said slowly and stood upright. "Mine's gone, you're going to have to call the ship."

They slogged through the water to the beam up site. She flipped open her communicator and said, "Enterprise, This is Lt. Uhura, two to beam up."

"Enterprise reads you, Uhura," Montgomery Scott's voice came through the communicator. "Stand still, and we'll have you up in no time."

Jim dropped the strange artifact into his pack. She raised a surprised eyebrow. "It's interesting," he explained. "I've disturbed it now; I may as well take it to the ship." She opened her mouth. _Don't site regulations to me,_ he thought. Before she could begin, his skin tickled as the transporter locked on.

The transport bay coalesced around him. Keenser and Scott hurried out of the control room. As always, Keenser looked slightly disapproving; his exoskeleton didn't allow for many expressions, but Scott was grinning. Jim supposed it was his chief engineer's smile that made him feel so suddenly happy.

"Welcome aboard," Scott said.

"It's good to see you, Scotty," Uhura replied.

Scott said, "You look the mite worse for wear, captain."

"Yeah, I know," Kirk said with a grin. "Conditions were treacherous down there." Uhura snorted. Inside his head, he heard his own voice say, {Glad you're here in one piece all, but you're getting muck all over my pad.} He looked down and saw that he was, in fact dripping muddy water onto the transport pad. _That's weird,_ he thought,_ how is it possible to think about something I wasn't aware of?_

"The captain went for a swim," Uhura said. "He spilled his backpack, and then he played in the water, looking for the things he lost."

"Communicator?" asked Keenser.

"Yes, including his communicator," Uhura laughed.

_I was hoping you wouldn't hear about that,_ Jim thought, and in his head heard himself say, {His communicator is lost, brilliant.} The pleasure he'd felt earlier ratcheted up, he felt delighted. And confused. It was the oddest juxtaposition of emotions he'd ever experienced. _What is going on, and who is talking?_ He squinted at Keenser, trying to determine if the tiny crewman had spoken.

"You lost your communicator?" Scott said, sounding pleased. "Really?"

Inside his head, Jim heard, {I know someone that will enjoy hearing that.} He cleared his throat and said aloud, "Yeah, about that. Let's keep it to ourselves, how about?"

In his head, Jim heard himself say, {Not bloody likely, captain.} Jim looked doubtfully at the commander, who smiled noncommittally.

"You should change," Uhura told him and started towards the door, Jim hurried after her. He took one more look at Scott and called over his shoulder, "That's an order, Mr. Scott. I don't want any discussion of lost materials on this mission."

Mr. Scott didn't respond, but Mr. Keenser made a derisive beep.

Jim paused at the hatch, waiting to hear himself say something, but his head was quiet. He pulled on his wet uniform to straighten it and muttered, "It's so upbeat in there."

Uhura looked confused. Jim continued, "It's like you can feel happiness oozing out of the control room. It's weird. Sure, we're all glad when it works, but how does something they do constantly give them so much pleasure? I mean it's their job."

"I've never noticed that," Uhura said glancing back to the closed entrance of the transport bay. "Although, truthfully, I wasn't paying much attention. Frankly, I am more interested in the fuss about the communicator." She looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. "Tell," she ordered.

He threw his hands out innocently, shaking his head.

Sounding unconvinced, she asked, "Why is the chief engineer gloating?"

Jim sighed. "He's glad I lost my communicator."

She looked up at him sharply. "Why?"

He continued. "I gave Chekov a bit of a hard time about losing his yesterday. Scotty took offense. You know how he is."

"Yesterday?" Uhura asked. "You mean on the planet? That wasn't his fault."

"It wasn't not his fault Uhura. Anyway, it was a joke. It bothered Scotty way more than it did Chekov."

"Sounds hilarious," she said, her tone sarcastic. They stepped into the turbo lift. Seeing the captain, the crew members already inside stepped back to make room. Uhura and Kirk automatically lowered their voices and stood close together, in the front.

Softly, Jim continued, "It was. You should have seen it. I had Chekov convinced there's an official limit to how much equipment Starfleet will let an individual lose before they are considered too expensive for fieldwork."

"I can't believe he lets you do this to him," she muttered.

Jim grinned. "I pretended to be sad and told him he'd reached his limit. I told him I'd try and transfer him to a research facility with breathable air. You should have seen his face."

Uhura rolled her eyes. "How old are you?" she asked.

"I couldn't stop. He totally believed me."

She looked at him scornfully but spoke quietly. "It is no challenge to get him to believe you. He always believes you. I don't see why you find it so entertaining."

Jim shrugged and said cheerfully, "I probably did him a favor. Maybe the scare will make him more careful. He loses stuff all the time."

"Communicators are small. Things happen to them. You lost one today, would you want someone harassing you about it?"

"It wasn't harassment Uhura. It was a joke. Scotty's overreacting. Did you ever notice how sometimes he acts like Chekov is his firstborn or something?"

The lift door opened. Two security guards peered in. Seeing the captain, they saluted and stepped back, prepared to wait. Jim sighed, saluted, and waved them in. They pushed themselves against the crowd in the back. Uhura, less used to benefit from the tradition of giving the captain of a ship room, was embarrassed. She squeezed closer, trying to make more space for the others.

"Captain Kirk," she whispered, "Scotty's been protective since Khan. He blames himself for not being aboard for the engine failure and feels guilty that Pavel had to answer to the investigators by himself. Still think it's funny?"

He leaned down and said softly, "Uhura, it was a joke."

She hissed back, "The point is, did Pavel know that?"

"Sure, we joke around all the time. He loves it."

Uhura glanced at him sideways. The lift opened, and several crew members stepped around them to get out, nudging her into the captain. Suddenly, he felt odd. His joints fluttered. It wasn't painful, just bizarre. The sensation reminded him of something he couldn't quite call to mind. It lasted only a few seconds, but when it faded, he felt something else unusual. Deep in his chest was a bitter tightness he didn't recognize, and then inside his head, he heard his voice say, {You tease too much.}

"What?" he asked aloud.

"I didn't say anything," Uhura replied, in a tone that suggested she wanted to. She was standing so close that his fingers brushed her hip.

In his head, Jim clearly heard his voice say, {You're smart. Why don't you notice that no one gets to tease you back?}

"What? " he said, looking around the lift. "Do you hear anything?"

"Sir, are you all right?" Uhura asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

He felt a wave of concern sweep through him, and suddenly he heard, {This isn't like him. Was he hurt when he fell? He seemed fine in the transport bay. Wait, is this one of his jokes?} Her grip tightened, and inside his chest, the concern turned icy. He felt contempt and had time to wonder where it came from before he heard himself think, {I will kill him if he is teasing me. I don't care if he is the captain. I don't care if it wrecks my career. I am not some doll that exists for his entertainment.}

He touched his head and said, "This is weird. I hear myself thinking, but I am not saying things I think. Does that make any sense?"

She looked at him. Her eyes widened with compassion. Inside him, the angry feeling melted. The concern came back, stronger. {He's not teasing.} "We need to take you to see the doctor, sir," she said.

"No," he said. "I'm fine."

{He hates to be vulnerable,} his voice echoed in his head. He flinched and looked around dubiously.

{There is definitely something wrong,} he heard, at the same time Uhura turned to the controls of the turbo lift.

"Medical," she said.


	2. Identifying the Midas Touch

Chapter Two

Identifying the Midas Touch

Leonard McCoy squinted at the screen of the medical scanner he'd pointed at Jim, grunted, scowled, then nodded at a biobed and said, "We're busy. Sit. I'll get to you when I can."

"I could come back later," Jim suggested, but McCoy was already gone, hurrying back to whatever he'd left when the ship's captain had appeared in sickbay.

Sighing, Jim dumped his pack on the floor then peeled off his sodden shirt and dropped it too. He stepped in front of a blonde nurse, smiling good-naturedly. Gesturing to his wet clothes, he said, "Could you please order me a new uniform? I'm sorry to take you from your other work."

"No trouble," she replied, although her tone implied it was. "There's one in the supply cabinet. I'll grab it."

When the nurse returned, Jim asked, "You keep spare uniforms for the entire crew?"

She gave a choked laugh and tossed a crisply folded uniform on his bed. "Just yours. Dr. McCoy's big on efficiency. He says you inevitably need one and it's better to keep one available."

"I'll have to let the doctor know how much I appreciate his concern," Jim muttered. He shook out the shirt. "Thank you, Miss?"

Her expression hardened. "Chapel," she replied through clenched teeth. "My name is Christine Chapel."

"Jim Kirk," he replied, holding out his hand. Her jaw dropped. She shook her head, turned, and stomped off without looking back.

_What was that about,_ he wondered._ I can't know everyone's name. There's hundreds of them and one of me._ He pulled on the uniform; dry clothes improved his mood quickly. He lay on the bed and watched the activity around him. It occurred to him that he hadn't experienced any strange thoughts or emotions since arriving in sickbay. _I feel fine now. Maybe it was nothing,_ he thought. _Maybe it was my imagination._

McCoy and Uhura entered the ward, deep in conversation. The doctor had his head down, listening carefully to Uhura, who gestured as she spoke. _Look at the muscles in her arms, _Jim thought._ I love it when she wears her short-sleeved uniform. _McCoy nodded gravely and glanced his direction. _Stop worrying, Bones, _Jim thought. _I'm fine._ He grinned cockily and waved.

Doctor McCoy glanced at the biobed monitor and said, "Uhura says you were acting weird. I told her that's just another day in space for you."

"Very funny, Bones," he said.

"So, why don't you describe what you experienced?" McCoy asked, still staring up at the readout on his bed.

"It was probably nothing," he began.

"Oh, it was something," Uhura said, popping out from behind McCoy and frowning at him.

McCoy interrupted, "I'm the doctor. If it's alright with you two, I'll decide. Start at the beginning; tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened at the beginning," Jim said. "I had a perfectly normal morning. I beamed down to check on the security provisions for the survey team we're leaving on MC688. When I finished, I swung by the base camp to pick up Uhura."

"Nothing happened," Bones repeated, making a note on his PADD.

His friend's serious face made Jim want to laugh, but he controlled himself and continued, "Nothing. I found Uhura; we transported up.

He paused, and wished he could stop, but knew it was useless to hope Bones would let anything drop. He cleared his throat. "Then, on the way to my quarters, I started hearing other people's thoughts in my head."

"Other people's voices?" asked McCoy.

"No, my voice, but I wasn't saying what I think. I was saying things other people, well, specifically Uhura, think."

Uhura frowned. "How did you know it was me? What did I say?"

He shrugged, "You said I should eventually learn no one gets to tease me back."

She gasped, "I did think that! What else?"

"It's hard to remember exactly. Something about killing me if I was teasing you."

Her face closed off, "Okay, yeah, that too."

McCoy asked, "But it wasn't Uhura?"

"No, it was my voice, but I would never say something like that." He raised an eyebrow at Uhura and said, "I happen to know I tease exactly the right amount."

"And nothing else?" asked McCoy.

"I had," he paused, trying to think of how to describe it, "A fluttery feeling."

"A fluttery feeling," Bones repeated, making another note on his PADD.

"Yeah, Uhura brushed up against me, and I don't know, my joints felt watery, unattached."

"Jim," Bones said, with a glance at Uhura.

"No," Jim said. "I'm not thirteen." The doctor raised an eyebrow skeptically. He added firmly, "It wasn't anything like that."

"Like what?" asked Uhura.

"The doctor is implying," he paused and then said, "that I was feeling your loveliness."

"What?" she asked.

"You know," he said, "in a man kind of way."

Her jaw tightened. "Any chance you can guess what I am thinking right now, captain?" she hissed.

McCoy said quickly, "This is a discussion of physiology, Uhura."

"Which means it's not something you need to bother being offended about," Jim added. "Anyway, as I said, it wasn't that."

"Why don't you tell me what it was then," McCoy asked.

"It's hard to describe," Jim said thoughtfully. "I wasn't dizzy or anything, I didn't feel weak, but out of nowhere I felt mad, and I didn't want me to tease Chekov."

"What's Chekov got to do with this?"

"Nothing," he said. McCoy looked unconvinced, so he added, "He's who Uhura thinks I tease too much."

"Hmm," Bones said. "You didn't need a disembodied voice to tell you that. I'd of done it for free."

Uhura nodded approvingly.

Jim rolled his eyes. "So, can I go?" he asked.

The doctor tapped his PADD. "Did the voices tell you to do anything that made you feel uncomfortable or worried?"

"No."

"Hurt yourself?"

"No."

"Hurt anyone else?"

"No."

"Run the ship into a nearby star?"

"No, as I said, I suddenly started reflecting on me not realizing anyone can tease me back. That's it."

"He was weird in the transport bay," Uhura added.

"Oh, that's right," he agreed. He looked up at McCoy, "I didn't pay attention at the time, but I was thinking some odd things there too."

"Very pro-transporter," Uhura said.

Jim nodded. "Uhura's right. In retrospect, the transporter working never made me happy before, but it sure did today. I guess it's possible, I mean, that's the kind of thing Scotty might think."

McCoy frowned. "I'm not sure if that's worth noting. Being able to know what Scotty's thinking wouldn't be considered unusual; anybody can do it from across the room. That guy is not subtle. But you aren't hearing or feeling anything now?"

"Nothing," Jim said.

"It's plenty crowded here," McCoy mused. "If you were suddenly going to become psionic you'd think you'd be having a field day."

Jim said, "Whatever it was, I'm pretty sure it's gone. I just had a painful conversation with some nurse. I'd have loved to know what she was thinking, and I got nothing."

"What nurse?" McCoy asked, looking around.

"Christina, something, I don't know," Jim said, "tall, blonde, mad?"

"Christine Chapel?" the doctor asked. "You were talking to Christine Chapel?"

"Yeah, that sounds right. I introduced myself, and she got mad. I'd have loved to know what she was thinking 'cause it made no sense to me."

"Jim," McCoy said. "You know her. You two dated at the academy."

"We did?" Jim said, uncertainly.

"Yes, you did," Uhura said.

"I'll apologize," Jim sighed. _I can't believe I did that again,_ he thought.

"You're unbelievable," Uhura muttered. "I'm guessing, Captain Kirk, that you should be glad you couldn't hear her thoughts."

"Just to clarify," Jim said, "I am not hearing other people's thoughts, I'm having other people's thoughts."

McCoy scribbled some notes. "You're probably fine," he said slowly, "but I am going to order a scan, just to be sure."

"I don't have time for that," Jim said.

McCoy was already writing an order. "I will decide what you have time for, captain," he said, then leaned forward to adjust a setting on the biobed. When McCoy's hand got within ten inches of his chest, Jim felt an odd fluttering in his joints, and then from deep within his chest, concern began to radiate forth, and he heard himself think, {Most people, I'd say this is nothing. But Jim doesn't get weird little fancies, just pretty much everything else. Jim cheated death, and it keeps reaching out for him. Jim's my responsibility. I need to make sure about this.}

"I am not your responsibility, and anyway, I don't think hearing things will kill me," he said. "Everything's fine, Bones."

The doctor looked up, shocked. Jim realized what he had heard and said, "Oh, wait, maybe it's not."


	3. It's All About You

Chapter Three  
It's All About Me

Uhura, Spock, McCoy, and M'Benga huddled with a delicate, waist-high lieutenant Jim didn't recognize, whispering. Periodically, one or the other glanced his direction then looked away, obviously uncomfortable with meeting his eyes. Tired of watching himself discussed, he called, "Could we speed this up? I need to get to work. Captain of the ship may not have quite the panache of doctor, but it's generally considered an important job."

The officers turned as a group, looked at him, and then back at each other. They seemed to have reached a decision. Spock nodded gravely to the healer, a female with a perfectly round face and skin that matched her medical tunic. She clasped her hands, took a deep breath, and stepped toward him.

"Captain Kirk, please let me know when you hear me in your mind," the healer said kindly.

Her's eyes made him think she was trying to tell him something, but he got nothing. S_he's working hard, I wish,_ but he didn't finish the thought. He felt a fluttering in his joints then suddenly, very embarrassed. He heard himself think, {I am uncomfortable doing this to him, but Mr. Spock approves, it must be right.}

"Mr. Spock wants what?" he asked.

The healer looked perplexed and asked, "Did you get something, sir?"

He said, "I heard myself say that if Mr. Spock wants something, it must be alright."

"You heard that?" she asked. "Did you get a picture of anything? No? A color? Did you get a picture of anything of a certain color?"

Jim shook his head. "Just feelings that aren't mine. It doesn't make sense, I know, but I can't explain it better than that. I was bored; then suddenly, I was embarrassed too, and I heard myself think that if Spock wants me to do it, it is alright." He looked over her head to the clutch of officers behind her and called, "Which, I assure all of you, is not something I would normally think."

The healer turned back to the group. "This is unexpected," she said and took a step closer. "Can you hear or see anything unusual now?" she asked.

"It's all very unusual," laughed Jim wryly.

The healer nodded. The anxiety ramped up, but he felt curiosity too. He tried to explain, "It's like I am doing my thinking and someone else's too. Half of me feels like myself; half of me feels concerned that I'm doing something wrong." He paused and added, "I know that isn't my thought. I never feel like that."

"And you never saw a picture in your head of a red box?" asked the healer.

Jim shook his head.

"But you can hear Lieutenant M'mms thoughts?" M'Benga asked.

"I keep telling you, I don't hear anyone but myself, but I am saying things I don't think."

"Not the alphabet?" the healer, M'mms, asked.

"Not the alphabet," Jim agreed. In his head, he heard his voice say, {He is not a telepath, perhaps some sort of empath, but he seems remarkably unaffected.} He raised an eyebrow and M'mms flushed a lovely robin's egg blue. He felt stinging embarrassment run through his body and heard, {he is so charming.} He grinned, and M'mms blushed harder.

The next several hours were spent investigating the details of his condition, which the healer kept referring to as his gift. He didn't mind the term. It was occasionally disorienting, but he didn't find it frightening.

They established that he could only read the healer's emotions when she was trying to project images to him, and her coming closer did not make it easier. She could only read him as she did most humans, indistinct images but no specific thoughts. He could read Bones at twenty-five centimeters. Uhura had to touch him for him to hear her. Spock did not volunteer to participate in the experiments.

Even when experiencing the other's strongest emotions, he never lost awareness of his own. He couldn't get pictures or even all their thoughts. He would hear several sentences and then miss some, only to pick up the thread again in a few seconds.

"Why do you think that is?" McCoy asked.

The healer shook her head. "Perhaps he hears only the sender's strongest thoughts?" she suggested, "or perhaps he hears only those that relate to the emotion he picks up?"

Jim interrupted, "Spock has something to say."

"How did you know? Can you hear his thoughts now?" McCoy asked.

"No, I can tell by how he's standing," Jim said.

McCoy looked skeptically at Spock. "He looks the same as he always does, like a cat knee-high in water."

Jim smiled._ That's his bracing-for-a-noisy-McCoy-response stance_,_ Bones,_ he thought, but said, "Go ahead, Mr. Spock."

"Captain," Spock said. "I have observed that you are the primary subject of the thoughts you are receiving."

_That can't be right,_ Jim thought. He tried frantically to remember even one example of something he'd heard that proved Spock wrong.

After a thoughtful pause, "I think you may be right, Mr. Spock," M'Benga said.

"Of course he's right," Uhura said. "The question is, why? Is the captain only capable of hearing thoughts about himself, or is it that he is only noticing those thoughts that interest him?"

Jim said, "I am interested in lots of things, Uhura. In fact, I'm not even close to the top ten of my interests."

Uhura and McCoy exchanged a skeptical glance. "It can't be that!" Jim protested.

"I shall investigate," M'mms said. She asked Jim to repeat what he heard. Jim concentrated hard then shifted uncomfortably.

"Did you hear something?" McCoy asked.

Jim nodded.

"Well, what was it?" asked McCoy.

"I'd rather not say," Jim said.

"Captain," Spock began, but McCoy interrupted.

"If you want to get better, you need to cooperate with the specialist," McCoy said.

Jim sighed. "Fine. I heard: he is very handsome, then a pause, Captain Kirk is brave, and another break, then, our captain has lovely eyes. This is embarrassing, Bones."

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy said dismissively. "What's it prove?" he asked the healer.

"I am alternating descriptions of you and the captain," M'mms said. "Did you hear nothing about the doctor's intellect, captain?"

"No," he said, "and I don't want to hear anything more."

McCoy said. "I'll help her broadcast some of your interests. You tell us what you hear." He instructed M'mms to think about steaks on an open fire. Jim got nothing. Then McCoy called up some descriptions of battles on his PADD. He had the healer read them, and imagine the scenes. Again, Jim heard nothing.

"I hate to admit it, but I think Spock may be right, Jim. You only have one other big interest that I know of, and I can't think of a way to test your susceptibility," Bones mused.

Spock said, "Perhaps holos, doctor?" He asked the healer, "Do you have any particular cultural prohibitions against pornography?"

"Alright Spock, that won't be necessary," Kirk said. "I believe you. I can only hear thoughts about myself."

McCoy ordered a scan of his brain, then of his whole nervous system, and then another of his brain. It took hours, and he wasn't allowed to eat. Everyone drifted back to work except Uhura, who sat with him while he fidgeted.

"I can't take anymore," he complained. "I don't care what's wrong with me; I can't lay here and stay at the ceiling."

"Here's the doctor," Uhura said, pointing to Bones, holding a tricorder, and looking frustrated.

"You're sure you didn't touch anything on that planet?" McCoy barked.

"I touched lots of things. I was there for hours. But if you're asking if I had any experiences that other people didn't have, then no. Nothing," Jim said.

"Wait," Uhura said slowly, "you fell."

"I did," Jim agreed, "I spilled my pack and thrashed about in ten centimeters of bog water grabbing for my things."

"So you touched a fair number of things," McCoy said with a frown.

Jim nodded. "Yes, but that worksite is a swamp. All the crew members down there have touched the water and the dirt. None of our scans suggested any reason for us to be careful."

"Did you cut yourself?"

"No, but I got a hold of a little piece of pottery. I thought it was my communicator because it was smooth. It was weird."

"Weird how?" McCoy asked.

Jim shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's hard to explain. It was like warm ice; it made my fingers tingle." He continued more slowly, "Touching it gave me the same feeling I have right before I start hearing people." He jumped off the bed. "Bones! You've solved it! I caught something off the pottery!"

Bones called Spock, who returned to sickbay and listened gravely to the story. "We need to organize a search party," he said. Our priority must be to find and analyze the artifact Captain Kirk touched. We are fortunate Miss Uhura was present and so knows its general location. She can lead the away team."

"You don't need to do that Spock," Jim said. "Hand me my pack."

Spock cocked an eyebrow. "Captain, are you saying you brought the artifact onto the ship?"

"You did what?" McCoy turned around and yelled, "Chapel! Hit the bio-hazard alarm!"

Klaxons sounded around them as the hatches locked, and the air pressure rose. Crew members stepped out of rooms to see what the emergency was, their expressions grim in the harsh virucidal lights. "Calm down Bones," Jim said. "The whole planet was scanned, analyzed, and found without significant hazards. People take souvenirs. We pretend they don't, but they do. The crew's private quarters are full of them. It's little. It didn't hurt anything."

Red-faced, McCoy hissed, "Do you not understand? You hurt you! We have regulations for a reason, Captain Kirk!"

A suited hazard team arrived and collected Jim's pack, with the artifact still inside. As the robot rolled away, dirty water dribbled out, and the team jumped like they'd spilled a live torpedo. Only McCoy's expression kept Jim from laughing. When the team finished, the doctor ordered Jim to an isolation chamber.

"That," Jim argued, "is unnecessary, an example of the kind of over-commitment to procedures that hold us back. It's Starfleet's biggest flaw."

"Isolation is that way, Captain Kirk," McCoy replied, pointing. "Get in it so I can put the medical unit on lockdown for disinfecting."

It was evening before McCoy was finally satisfied no one else was going to develop the condition and canceled the emergency. Jim watched the weary alpha shift heading to the exit, obviously eager to leave. _Bones was right; this is my fault, _he thought._ They worked hours past shift change because I wanted a rock. _

McCoy leaned out of his office. "Join us, Jim," he said. "It's more private. Turns out there's no need for isolation. Whatever this is, it isn't biologic."

Jim swallowed the desire to say, I told you so, and said, "That's good news. Then I can get back to work, right?"

"Take a seat, Jim," McCoy said. "Spock is here too." He waited till both officers were down, then turned on the viewer on his desk. "Here's your baseline neural scan. Here's the one I took this morning. See the difference?"

"Not really," Jim said.

"I'll highlight it. See that little red semi-circle? That's a neural pathway that wasn't there originally. This part of the brain, in those species that have it, generally controls psionic function. See how it is shaped? That's not natural."

"You're saying my brain changed," Jim said quietly, "like Gary."

"No," Bones said firmly. "Not like Gary. His entire brain changed and kept changing. You have one new neural pathway. It is tiny, and it appears to be stable, and you seem remarkably unaffected by it. I would tell you if you had a profound injury like Gary did Jim. You don't."

Jim smiled at his old friend._ I don't need psychic powers to know you are telling the truth,_ he thought.

Spock, who had moved his chair an awkward distance from Jim said, "The area was completely dark on your original scan. It's reasonable to assume your new abilities are related to growth in an area of the brain where humans in general, and you in particular, do not naturally have much electrical activity. I assume you did not test as particularly sensitive to telepathy."

"All my sensitivity scores were pretty low," laughed Jim.

"That's an understatement," McCoy said. "How many teary young things called you insensitive when we were roommates?"

Jim shrugged. "So, how did it get there? Do you honestly think it came from touching a piece of pottery?"

"That will be Spock's purview. I'm telling you what I know. Which is, you have a new neural pathway. It's not an implant; it's your tissue. However, its shape suggests it was not a natural development. We need to continue to monitor it, but at this time, it does not appear to be of any physical risk to you or anyone else."

"Thanks, Bones," Jim said. "How about you Spock? What've you got for me?"

"My efforts captain," the first officer began, "were somewhat curtailed by my confinement in the medical bay. However, I have been assisting in the analysis of the artifact. It is fascinating. Despite its simple appearance, it is a very complex piece of machinery, created using technology not described in Federation literature. I do not like to speculate, my research is far from complete, and my analysis is based only on simulations. I believe, however, that should we eventually understand it, it may have profound implications in the fields of medicine."

"On point Spock, please, and try to make it simple," Kirk said.

The Vulcan stopped, blinked and then began again. "When touched, the artifact changes the brain of sentients."

"Like the Tholians?" interrupted Jim, "if I get far enough away from it, will I stop having these sessions? We could toss it out a garbage chute."

"I consider that unlikely sir. The effect is somewhat similar; the process is not. The changes to your brain are physiological, and were not thus far, affected by physical proximity to the shard."

"Good point," Jim said, disappointed.

"I can offer as yet no explanation for why you are suddenly telepathically receptive to thoughts about you and nothing else. I see no logic in harnessing such energy to accomplish so very little. I will continue to study the device. Perhaps once we know its original purpose, we will be able to control it. To this end, I have directed Mr. Sulu to return the ship to MC688. Once there, we will provide support to the original team and change its mission from exploration to research. In the meantime, Lt. Uhura is leading efforts to translate the scripts she recorded while on the planet. It may facilitate our understanding of the device."

Jim nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Spock. That all sounds good." He cleared his throat and said, "Now I have a few questions. Why is it that I can stand right next to Uhura and not hear her unless she touches me, but I can hear Scotty from across the room? Does that make any sense?"

"I don't know kid," Bones said.

Mr. Spock took a small step back.

_Okay,_ Jim thought. _That's pretty much the Vulcan equivalent of throwing your arms up and wailing, 'don't talk to me.'_ He cleared his throat. "Spock?" he asked, trying for encouraging yet commanding in his tone.

Spock said, "I believe I may have some insights on this topic."

"I thought you might," Jim said.

"Captain," Spock said, "as a human, you may be unaware that just as telepathic receptiveness varies from individual to individual, so too does an individual's powers of transmission."

"Really?" asked McCoy.

Spock nodded once. "It is well documented," he said, "and true among most species."

"So you are saying some people are just naturally louder telepathically?" Jim asked.

Spock blinked. "I did not say that, although it is perhaps, one way to express my point," he said.

"So, you could be walking down the street, and suddenly, a total stranger might be inside your head?" McCoy sounded horrified.

"It is more accurate to say that occasionally one encounters individuals to whom it is difficult to close one's mind. That is one of the reasons telepathic young receive instruction in control of both their receptive and perceptive abilities from an early age." Spock's voice was firm, but he was gazing slightly over their shoulders as he spoke.

_He's uncomfortable,_ Jim thought. _I know Vulcans consider discussions of their telepathic abilities to be in poor taste, but I've never seen him like this before._

"Among any group of individuals," Spock said slowly, "there will always be several who," he paused, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, "might benefit from such instruction. This crew is no exception. The psionically sensitive crew members generally acknowledge Mr. Scott to be one such individual."

"Are you saying," McCoy asked gruffly, "that Scotty is easy to read?"

Spock nodded. "That is correct."

"Hell, I said that, and I'm not a telepath."

"No," Spock replied, "you are not, but there are crewmembers that assure me you are quite empathetic."

McCoy frowned, trying to work out if he had been insulted. The first officer continued, "However, you were correct, doctor. Mr. Scott is so; I will say noisy, in his transmission that all but the most psionically closed individuals would have some sense of his feelings. On Vulcan, there was a colloquial term for this tendency. It would translate as bleeding. Those individuals considered emotionally loud are called bleeders."

"So, if you're sitting with Scotty, you can hear what he thinks?" McCoy asked.

Spock blinked. "No, doctor, I would never allow myself to do so. Especially when observed in humans, who do not usually consider their psychic energy, bleeding is acknowledged to be accidental. No Vulcan would purposely wallow in the emotions of others."

_Did he say wallow?_ Jim wondered.

"However," Spock continued, "even Lieutenants Mmm's who, as a healer has trained to maximize her skills, occasionally mentions the difficulty she experiences shielding herself in the presence of some crew members."

Bones said. "I never knew any of this."

Jim said. "I guess it makes sense. You said it yourself, Bones. Everyone knows what Scotty is thinking. Who else Spock?"

The first officer looked at him but did not reply.

"Who else on the crew is a bleeder?" Jim asked again.

"I bet I could make a list," Bones said thoughtfully. "Bleeders would be popular. It would be easy to establish emotional bonds with someone like that."

"Is he right?" Jim asked.

Spock said slowly, "I believe captain, it will soon become apparent to you."


	4. A Bandaid

Chapter Four

Looking For Bandaids

While McCoy kept the captain under observation in the unit, Spock took the ship to MC688 then gave Sulu command and concentrated on research. Despite the recovery of several more devices, the scientists made little progress. Jim chafed while his crew worked. He began to call the division chiefs asking for updates. Early on the second day, after his third call asking about her team's efforts to decipher the writing samples, Uhura came up to sickbay and reported in person.

"Sir," Uhura said, chin up, and expression impassive, "interpreting completely unknown languages is not something that happens quickly."

_This presentation sounds like something you and Spock worked up together,_ he thought, but said, "I understand, but ballpark, when do you think you will have something for me?"

"I can't guess, captain. My team is still organizing the samples. We aren't ready to decode anything yet."

It seemed impossible to Jim that they hadn't gotten farther. "What is there to organize? Pick one and get to work."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but you have no idea what that means," she protested. "The standard analysis programs found no matches. The language is a complete isolate; we're starting from scratch. We're linguists doing cryptoanalysis."

He interrupted, "Stop thinking about every possibility. Decide what's most likely and start."

Her eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, Jim assumed to argue, but she apparently thought better of it and went back to her script. "Sir," she said, "this is not a process that goes faster when you interrupt us."

"Uhura," he said, "get it done."

Jaw tight, she acknowledged it as an order. As she turned to leave, her hand brushed Jim's. He felt disdain and heard himself say, {Idiot.}

At first, Jim was too stunned to react. He called, "This isn't some research project, it's my life," but Uhura was already gone. Thinking made him less hurt and more angry. He jumped off the bed and paced the room. _Yes, I'm eager, who wouldn't be in my position? Anyway, __I'm the captain. It's my job to tell the crew when they needed to try harder. It's worked pretty well for everybody so far; maybe she should think about that before she starts commenting on her orders._

He got a drink of water and felt a little calmer. _Uhura's doing her best,_ he told himself. _She always does. I should let this go._

He went back to his bed, opened his PADD, and tried to read. After a few sentences, he dropped the machine on the bed. _Idiot? Seriously? _D_oes she believe that? Do other people? _

Jim walked to the door and gazed out at the busy medical unit. He shook his head. _Being down here with nothing to do is making me crazy. _

He grabbed his communicator and flipped it open. "Bones," he said, "come talk to me."

"I'm working, remember?" the doctor replied.

Biting back what he wanted to say, Jim managed, "Could you please come and see me when it is convenient?"

The doctor appeared almost immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I thought you were busy?" Jim said.

"Yeah, but you sounded weird," McCoy explained, "I thought I should check. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Jim said, "I just wanted to let you know I'm ready to go back to work."

McCoy snorted. "No," he called as he stomped back to his office.

Jim muttered, "And now, my psychic powers tell me we will argue," and followed McCoy. "Look," he said, "You said my scans haven't changed since the first one."

The doctor scowled. "You've had an injury to your brain, captain. Do you have any concept of what that means? Telepaths consider any damage to inhibitory organs a medical crisis. You only feel alright because down here, we can control the environment. Up there, you'll have no protection when people leak their thoughts into your mind."

"I need to get back to work."

"The fact that you think that is reasonable proves you are in no shape for command. I said no, now get back to bed."

Jim continued, "I have to go back sometime. If this new brain thing is permanent, I have no intention of changing my life. I'll need to learn to ignore hearing others' thoughts. To do that, I need to practice. Captaining while parked at a deserted planet is an excellent way to start. Because eventually, I am going to have to do some real work, and I don't want to be distracted."

McCoy didn't reply. Sensing weakness, Jim decided to bring out the big guns. "I'd hoped to avoid alarming you," he said earnestly, "but, to be honest. My return is a matter of security."

McCoy shook his head. "Don't bother," he said.

"It is," Jim retorted. "The safety of the ship, our very lives depend upon the command officers making the right decisions in an emergency. How can they do that when they don't even know what the mission is? Spock declared the device top secret because of the potential for misuse. I agree, although my concern is it might compromise the crew's ability to work around me if they knew I could read their thoughts. Sulu has the conn, and he has no idea why we're back at MC688. He's steady. I could trust him with anything. But what happens when he goes off duty, and someone else takes over? It's not safe, Bones. I need to get up there."

"This is a lousy idea," McCoy said.

Jim raised his right hand. "If I mess up, you can relieve me. I won't argue."

"It's useless to argue," McCoy countered, "you never listen to anyone. You want discharged? Fine, suit yourself. But listen to me kid, this is going to be harder than you think. Promise me you'll be honest with yourself. There's no shame in coming back down here for some rest."

"Yes, yes. I promise," Jim said quickly.

"I want to see you after every shift. We'll rescan you, make sure there are no changes. And you have to agree to tell me immediately about headaches or vision problems."

"Be calm, Bones, I got this."

"I doubt it," McCoy said grimly. "Promise me you'll work with Spock to learn some techniques for blocking others' access to your mind."

"I promise," Jim agreed, mostly to get Bones to stop talking. He pointed to the doctor's PADD and made a "keep it rolling" gesture.

Bones sighed again and called up the discharge papers. Muttering unhappily to himself, he signed the documents.

Jim burst out of sickbay, grinning happily. First, he strolled around the ship. After three days in medical, even the standard paint of the passageways seemed colorful.

After having greeted several crew members without incident, he began to wonder if perhaps he had already taught himself to control the transferences. Then six huge, security guards tripped over each other while trying to salute as they scrambled out of his way, and he remembered protocol demanded the crew step back and give the captain space in the passageway. He had known it, but he hadn't ever really been conscious of it before.

Discouraged, he made his way to the bridge. Stepping out of the turbolift, he took just a few seconds to enjoy it, his favorite place in the universe. Chekov called, "Captain on the bridge." Every crew member not at a specific station stood at attention, and Sulu jumped up, vacating his chair. Jim paused just a moment longer, to enjoy the view, and then started toward his seat.

On the second stair, his joints fluttered worse than they ever had, and suddenly, he felt a wave of happy excitement, such as he hadn't experienced since he was a very young child. At the same time, he began to hear himself say, {He's here! He looks great, not like he was ill. He is back, and now things will be normal, I am so happy.}

The words were coming so quickly he could barely understand them. _It was never this intense before,_ he thought. Looking around, he decided he was picking up the thoughts of more than one crewman. _That's why the excitement is so intense; it's more than one person's_.

"Good afternoon, Captain Kirk. Sir, you have the conn," Sulu said formally.

{He looks like he is in pain; is he still sick? I must focus and try not to disappoint him. Perhaps he should rest. Hikaru should tell him that we can do this for him.} "Thank you, Mr. Sulu, anything to report?" Jim asked, trying to focus over the whirling staccato in his brain.

"We are in standard orbit above MC688. All teams reported in on time, and none reported difficulties." Sulu said. As the relief helmsman stood to give Sulu report, the yattering in Jim's brain shut off.

_Good,_ he thought, _they've all got something to think about besides me._ He settled into his seat and looked around. Even stuck in orbit around MC688 the bridge was exciting. There was urgency in every movement and blinking screen. Jim was so glad to be back that it took him a while to become aware of the alien happiness thrumming through his mind. It wasn't unpleasant. Jim always felt happy and a little excited when on the bridge. However, his own emotions paled next to the force he was experiencing. _What would you call this, enthralled, euphoric? I'm not sure of the word, but it feels good. It's definitely too intense for just one or two people; half the crew must be thinking how happy they are I'm back. _

Jim looked around, eager to share his appreciation with the crew. _They're right; it's a great day on the Enterprise. A_t the weapons station Lt. Hendorff shifted from foot to foot without making eye contact. The lieutenant providing coverage for Uhura yawned as he stared glassy-eyed at his screens. Bowen, at science for Spock, smiled at Jim vaguely, then returned to the report on her viewer. Puzzled, Jim stood up and turned slowly, inspecting every station. He saw no one that appeared even remotely excited.

_Not surprising, _he told himself. _We're in orbit around a dead planet, and it's dull. _W_ho'd be happy about nothing? _He stopped and winced. _Oh no, _he thought. Sighing, he gathered his courage and stepped around the front of the helm.

Sulu glanced up, Chekov did too. Immediately Kirk heard, {What does he want? So exciting; I'm ready for whatever it is. What will he want? What will he want me to do?} Words tripped over themselves in his head.

_Oh no, _he thought again. The happy feeling dissipated in crushing concern, not all his. It was overwhelming. {What is wrong? Is he in pain? Perhaps he came back too soon.} Jim put his hand up, "Chekov," he said warningly.

"Yes, sir," the navigator answered politely, and the worry grew.

In Jim's head, fast, like a rabbit's heartbeat, he heard, {What does he want? Look at that face, is he angry? He's angry. Why? Did I make him angry? Can he possibly still be mad about the communicator? Hikaru said he was joking, but that face does not look joking. Damn, damn, damn, damn,}

Jim had to focus hard to think over the chorus of swearing. He said, "Uhura's down in the linguistic labs."

"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed, and the concern washed away in relief.

{That's all? That was easy} As fast as it came, the relief evaporated into apprehension. {Wait, how could he not know, he ordered it. Did I miss rhetorical again? I always do that to him, what is wrong with me?}

Jim swallowed the urge to tell Chekov to shut up, and instead said, "I want you to go to linguistics."

The anxiety dissipated. Chekov looked around the bridge. Jim heard, {I know how it feels to receive that order from him. Why does he insist on doing that, it never works out well. I wonder to whom he is talking?}

Just as he began to wonder if he should repeat himself, a wave of dread wallopped Jim like a two by four.

Chekov bleated, "You are speaking to me?" and added, "Sir?" while in his head Jim heard, {No, no, sir, please, no.}

Jim flinched. "Yeah," he said. In his head a train-going-down-a-track cacophony of {whys,} exploded. He managed to get out, "They need your special talents down there."

"Aye, sir," Chekov said. Sulu glanced at him sympathetically and signaled for a relief navigator. A frantic chorus of whys continued until Ensign Trev arrived. While Chekov focused on his report, it was mercifully quiet in Jim's head. He returned to his chair. As Chekov started to the turbolift, head down and avoiding eye contact, Jim felt resentment and heard, {Why can't he punish me without embarrassing me in front of the whole bridge crew? Look at L'hask already on her comm; he made her day. Thanks, captain, by shift change everyone in the division will know.}

Stung, Jim said, "Chekov."

The young man turned, "Yes, sir?"

Jim was surprised because Chekov looked like his usual self. There was no outward sign of the bitterness Jim knew the navigator was feeling. "It's temporary," he said. "This mission is important, and I think you'll be of help."

"Yes sir," Chekov said, nodding. Jim heard, {The captain is thinking of the ship and the mission; I am thinking of me. No matter how I try, I will never be like him,} and a blossoming of sad shame.

Once the turbo lift closed, Chekov's emotions disappeared. Jim tried to enjoy the quiet in his head, but a sort of nagging restlessness prevented him. _Now what?_ He checked the crew, trying to decide who's emotion he was feeling. All around the bridge, his officers seemed still lost in their thoughts. He studied the sentiment a little more and was surprised to realize it was his own guilt._ I don't get it. I never feel guilty. I decide what's right and I do it, and I don't waste time considering it later. _He shifted uncomfortably in his chair._ It might have been better if Chekov had stayed angry._ _Rage, I can handle. _

Suddenly, his communicator vibrated. He reached for it stealthily. He kept it set to nonverbal so that he could have the occasional personal conversation without entertaining the entire bridge crew. They weren't supposed to use private lines while on duty, but it was one of those regulations he preferred to overlook. He was always on duty; sometimes, he needed to talk to people. Very few of the crew had his connection information; he assumed it would be Blanca. However, the screen showed an angry-looking Uhura. That she hadn't just used the ship's channels to speak to him meant that whatever she wanted to say, it wasn't official. He opened the message. It read:

**?WTH?**

He replied: **Are you thanking me for the help I sent you?**

**This is not a thank you.**

**Keep him busy down there. I needed a break.**

**No. I don't have time to teach him what to do. What is wrong with you? You said you wanted us to work faster, and then you send me a distraction.**

**He was bleeding all over me.**

**You're making no sense.**

**Ask your boyfriend what it means.**

**Mentioning Spock is not going to distract me. I don't have time for this.**

**Come on, be a sport.**

**He says you just stood up and ordered him off the bridge.**

**I had to. I could hear him thinking from across the room.**

There was a pause before his screen lit up.

**Don't you dare whine to me that our progress isn't fast enough.**

The screen went dead.

He closed the comm, started to put it away, and then had an idea. He wrote a little note for Blanca and touched the proper icon.

**I'm out of Sick Bay. We should get together tonight. My place?**

He waited a few seconds for the response, which was:

**I'll bring steaks.**

Concerns forgotten, he leaned back in his chair and decided to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.


	5. Not Eating the Grapes

Chapter Five

Not Eating the Grapes

As the bell rang the end of the alpha shift, Jim's communicator chimed. McCoy said, "Scan, here, now."

_I forgot about that,_ Jim thought. "I don't have time, Bones," he said.

"Now," McCoy repeated and shut off the line.

In the lift down, he heard someone thinking how selfish he was for interrupting their research with the unscheduled trip back to MC688. Unable to retort that the Enterprise didn't exist to facilitate private projects, he was spoiling for a fight when he arrived in sickbay. McCoy was happy to oblige him, and they argued about the necessity of the scan right up until it started.

McCoy positioned himself behind the shoulder of the technician doing the procedure. "I don't need an implant to know you're making that crewman nervous," Jim called.

"Lie still," McCoy replied. He glared at Jim until the scan concluded then scowled at the screen.

"It's unchanged, isn't it?" Jim asked.

"Do it again," McCoy told the technician.

"No," Jim said, swinging his legs over the bed. You ordered a scan; you've got it, I'm done."

"I'll decide what constitutes finished in this division," McCoy bellowed. "Get back up there and hold still. This thing is blurry."

"You didn't say anything about blurry while they were doing it," Jim countered. "This is about me acknowledging you're in charge of your little kingdom down here."

"Wrong," McCoy replied. "You won't cooperate because it's the one place you're not in charge. Now lay down."

Jim suddenly picked up disgust. Looking about he saw the blonde nurse he'd met the day of the accident right behind him, pulling bedding from a storage bin. He heard, {Leonard has been worried about him all day, and he can't take ten minutes to offer his old friend reassurance. He's always been selfish.}

Jim looked at McCoy. Eyes narrow, the doctor pointed to the bed. "Alright," Jim said and hopped on the cot. "If that's what it takes for you to feel okay about this, let's do it."

McCoy muttered, "This is about your health, not mine," and signaled the technician to try again.

His second scan also showed no changes. Chafing internally, he hoped the blonde nurse noticed how politely he listened as McCoy repeated his list of orders and suggestions. Finally released, he rode the lift with Sulu, who gazed composedly at the door. _I'm close enough to touch him and getting nothing, _Jim thought_. Why can't everyone be Sulu?_

He hurried to the officer's club and picked up enough whiskey to fill a decanter. One of his favorite things about Blanca was her sensible attitude toward liquor. She was low maintenance, a fun date; his first girlfriend since Carol.

After a painful, and for him, nearly unimaginable six months alone, he had dusted himself off and looked around for a likely partner. Sick of running into angry women he didn't recall, he had tried to be honest. He'd told Blanca he enjoyed her company and thought he could care for her. He'd added that he didn't consider himself likely to be monogamous, but that he did not plan to embarrass her with frequent partners on the ship. She had replied, "I can't imagine myself being embarrassed by your behavior," in that calm, disinterested, way that drove him crazy. They'd filed the appropriate paperwork, and began dating.

He didn't feel about her as he had about Carol, but she was good company. Strangely, shortly after explaining to her that he did not plan to be faithful, he had turned down an obvious request for his company from a visiting scientist. There had been no one else since he had been clear that there might be. Occasionally he wondered what it said about him that he only really managed to be faithful when no one cared.

He was in his quarters, setting the tiny table when it occurred to him that he was planning to have sex with someone whose thoughts he might be able to hear. _Should I tell Blanca? I can trust her. _

_No, _he decided._ I agreed to follow Spock's plan. There must be some other way to deal with this. Or, maybe I'm worrying about nothing. Hopefully, Blanca will be like Sulu, and it won't even happen._

Then it occurred to him that it might be an enjoyable experience. _What would it be like, to have a lover that understood what you wanted without you saying anything? Wouldn't Carol, I mean Blanca want that? Wouldn't everyone? _

Jim started imagining what he might hear and lost track of time. A knock on his door ended his reverie. Blinking back to reality, he was embarrassed to be still standing at the table holding a plate. "Come," he said, finishing his task.

As soon as she stepped into his quarters, his knees fluttered, and he became aware of her happy excitement. _Oh no,_ he thought. In his head, he heard, {Look at him, perfect, as always. I should look half as good.}

"You look great," he said.

Blanca smiled. {How does he always know what to say?} She set a small basket on the table and pulled out a covered dish, "Steak," she said, "as promised." He smiled. She reached back in. "Rolls," she said, setting a plate on the table.

She reached into the basket again and brought out a tiny bowl of butter. "I wanted to bring trifle," she said, slipping into one of the chairs. "I know you like to finish with a sweet. Unfortunately, this is all I had room for."

"Well, I do like dessert, but I imagine I'll think of something," he said, smiling. Blanca's feelings, he decided, were quite similar to his._ If they're the same, why would she care that I know them?_

They didn't usually greet each other with a kiss. Blanca preferred to talk first. When he had laid out his expectations, she had explained hers. "I know a great many handsome men and very few interesting ones. How are your conversational skills, James?"

He loved her confidence and enjoyed the challenge. Most of his partners asked nothing of him. Blanca wasn't Carol, but she was pretty good.

"Everything's replicated," she said sadly, "I had no time to cook. With this mission's extra duty, I barely had time to grab this."

"Why?" he asked. He was hearing nothing, which meant Blanca wasn't thinking about him, but she was still feeling happy and excited, which was good.

He felt her amusement. "You'd have to tell me that, captain. All I know is we're all working extra."

"But, you're not a scientist."

He felt a flare of annoyance. {Hard as it may be for you to imagine, I had a whole life before becoming one of the pawns on your chessboard, Jim.} "I am a scientist," she said mildly. "I'm a historian. Remember?"

He said quickly, "Your thesis was on medieval battle strategies, which led you to security at the academy. I remember. I meant here on the ship. So, is security helping Mr. Spock's research team?"

"No," she laughed, "but we're working extra duty. Most of us are covering the onboard work of the crew pulling duty on the planet. I, of course, am a specialist, which means I was one of the ones being guarded."

What do weapons specialists do while we park at a deserted planet?" he asked as he poured them each a drink, happy to feel her mood improving.

"Normally not much, but on this particular mission, I am reviewing the ruins for signs of fortification. The assumption is that I will know a weapon when I see it, or at least I am the one most likely to do so on this ship. For me, the extra watch makes sense. It takes so long to get down to the planet that I prefer to stay and work once I reach it."

"Are you finding anything?"

"No, There were a large building and some simple cottages, two or three rooms, no more. There are no signs of battlements, no weapons rooms, and so far, no weapons. These people, whoever they were, lived remarkably peaceful lives."

He nodded. "Probably why they aren't still here. They got their pacifist asses blasted into non-existence."

{He is, at his core, a warrior. That explains the attraction I think.}

Hearing himself referred to as a warrior was exciting, and he nearly missed her saying, "Perhaps, but there are no signs of an apocalyptic last battle either. According to the initial analysis, there was a population, never large, that suddenly disappeared. I think it was an outpost, but Lt. Wixta from lost cultures insists there are no records of it being one."

"Maybe they were explorers and were stranded for generations before they got rescued, or maybe they were doing research. Maybe we're researching a research team; wouldn't that be funny? Anything is possible."

"Now, you sound like a scientist," she said with a smile.

"No, I'm a warrior, remember," he said. Her confused expression reminded him that she'd only thought about the comparison. He forced himself to laugh. "Joking," he added.

She smiled. "There is another odd thing. There are no burial sites, no remains of anything but the local animals. We know nothing of the physiology of the individuals who built the buildings. We may be completely misinterpreting everything. Maybe the settlers were tiny and slug-like, and what looks like cottages are their fortified cities. Perhaps their weapons were electrified slug slime. It's unlikely, but it's possible. Anyway, I am enjoying doing something different."

"I bet," he smiled.

The meal was good. Jim could feel Blanca enjoying it and occasionally heard her think something complimentary. He told himself that he'd already known she liked him and wasn't learning anything new. _It isn't a violation of privacy to hear things she already told me_, he thought and began to relax.

The Federation elections were coming up. He was less interested than her. At one point he was taken aback to hear her think, {how is it possible for such a brilliant man to be so uninterested in the government?} Stung, he had almost said it was on Earth and far away, but remembered just in time she hadn't said it aloud.

She believed working security meant she should not put off enjoying luxuries and always brought something extravagant to their shared meals. This time it was real butter. They broke the rolls into small pieces and slathered them in the stuff. Jim gave her the last bit so that he could watch her enjoy it.

"But I heard you were ill?" she said after she had licked the last of the butter off her lips.

"What? Oh, yeah, nothing serious. You know Bones, he's king of overkill. He kept me down there longer than he needed to."

"But you're fine now?" {Is he alright? Would he tell me if he wasn't, I'm just a stand-in for his real first choice.}

"What?" he asked, forgetting she hadn't spoken aloud.

"Your health is recovered?" she asked.

"I'm fine." He said firmly.

"Good," she said and went over to the couch. She looked up at Jim, patting the cushion next to her.

He joined her, and she slid closer. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek. He was aware of her desire, but it was so like his own it didn't seem invasive. _This is great,_ he thought, lowering his mouth to hers._ I won't even know she's in my head, that is how in sync we are. _

He kissed her mouth and then her neck and reached under her uniform. She leaned into him and slipped her hands under his shirt to help him out of it. In his head, he heard, {And, here we go. Oh well. He is really so lovely,} and then, somehow the desire started to feel more wistful, which was not something he had ever experienced before. He stopped and looked at her. {Well, that's different,} he heard. {Checking to be sure who you're with tonight, Jim? It's me. Still me, wishing there were fewer games between us.}

"I want," he said uncertainly, "I want to do what you want."

She smiled mockingly. "I think you know what I want."

He heard, {What I want? Unless it involves commitment or real love. What if I were to say I want you? That would end your interest. But don't worry Jim, I understand, and I want what you are offering too.}

Hurt, he pulled back. _We talked about this,_ he thought. With a sinking feeling, it occurred to him that he wasn't fine and that if the evening progressed in the way he had assumed it would, he would be worse. He didn't want sex with someone who was ambivalent.

"What's wrong?" Blanca asked. In his head, he heard, {He is not himself. Is he angry, or maybe he's still ill?}

"I'm sick," he said aloud. "I mean, I think maybe I overestimated how much better I am, I'm sorry Blanca, could we just maybe talk some more instead?"

She looked concerned. "Sure, Jim," she said and nestled down next to him.

{Talk,} he heard, {he must be very ill.} But then he felt compassion, and heard, {Poor man, he can't be pleased about it.}

"Would you pour me another drink?" he asked.

"Do you think that's wise?" she asked.

"It's well past wise, it's essential. I think it's probably the smartest thing I've done today," Jim replied.

Blanca stayed another hour. They chatted, and after her concern faded, everything he got made him believe she had enjoyed the evening. She said as much when she left, "I'm sorry you're ill, but this was fun for me." She paused and then added, "You made me feel like you enjoyed my company."

"I always enjoy your company, Blanca," he said truthfully.

"Yes, but sometimes it is nice to be enjoyed dressed," she said with a laugh. She kissed him gently, collected her basket, and left. Jim could feel her good humor even after she was gone.

He paced for ten minutes. As soon as he was absolutely sure he wouldn't meet Blanca in the passageway, Jim slipped out and ran to the first officer's quarters. He pounded on the door.

On the second round of pounds, the door slid open. Spock stood in the doorway, looking crisp.

"I need you to teach me some of those mind control techniques," Jim said and pushed past him into the room.

In the corner, on the minimalist bench was Uhura, looking lovely in some chiffon, turquoise, flowing thing that complimented her dark skin. She scowled at him.

"Oh, hey," he said. "What are you doing here? No wait, I don't want to know. Please, try not to even think about it."

"We're having tea, captain," she said coldly. She made the title sound like an insult, and he thought it was probably a good thing he couldn't hear what she was thinking.

She continued, "If you are here to harass me about the translations, I left several division members working in the lab, and I will check in with them in a few hours. It isn't the sort of thing that you can do for hours without taking a break, sir."

"Didn't you hear me? I don't care about that now. I need help." He turned to the first officer. "Spock, you said Vulcan children are taught to control their telepathic abilities. You need to teach me."

The Vulcan shook his head. "That is not possible, sir."

"Oh come on," he moaned, "you have no idea what it is like having other people's emotions just thrown at you constantly."

Uhura raised an eyebrow, Spock did too. Their matching expressions would have been comical if he had been less upset.

"Okay," he said, "that was stupid. You know exactly what it's like. But, you've had a lifetime to prepare. I'm not used to it. I can't turn it off, and it is making my life impossible."

"Impossible?" Uhura asked skeptically.

"Let's just say I had a guest Uhura, one with whom I was particularly interested in spending time. I had to ask her to leave. I thought it would be great, but it wasn't. It felt, I don't know, wrong, knowing what she was thinking."

"It should feel wrong; she's entitled to privacy, especially of her thoughts. You recognize that she doesn't just exist for you." Uhura said. "Congratulations, maybe you're finally growing up."

He said quietly, "It didn't match what she always told me. Now, what do I do?"

Uhura finally looked a little sympathetic. "Just because a thought occurs to an individual doesn't mean that is what they believe. Every situation generates perceptions, but most of them are meaningless, throwaway. Mature values are decisions. Blanca is a big girl. She can tell you what is important to her. Ask her."

"How did you know it was Blanca? I mean, Lt. Calvo?"

"I suppose there isn't any guarantee but isn't that who it's supposed to be?" Uhura asked.

"Yes," he admitted, "and it was. The point is, it wasn't good, and it's not just Blanca. I can't even be on the bridge with Chekov. I can hear him from across the room."

Uhura rolled her eyes, "Captain, everyone knows what Pasha is thinking, he wears his heart on his sleeve."

"He got mad at me, and then he felt so guilty. It was hard to take."

"He always feels guilty after he gets mad at you," Uhura said. "You'd know that if you paid any attention."

"I," Jim began, thought about it, and finished weakly, "would really rather not have to deal with this. Do you get what this means? There isn't a person on the ship I can count on just walking up to and having a conversation. I never know when I'm suddenly going to be too close and hear everything they think about me. How do I not remember what I hear? It could mess up my relationships; not just with Blanca, all of them."

"It is somewhat like the legend of King Midas," Spock said.

Jim nodded. "You're right, Spock. It's exactly like Midas. I have to keep my distance for everyone else's sake. That's not good for the ship."

"I'm sorry, is your concern that you are distracted by other's thoughts or that this has made it a little harder for you to have sex?" Uhura asked.

"Both," he said.

She snorted and said, "At least you're honest."

"This isn't funny, Uhura."

She said more kindly, "I know it isn't funny to you, and maybe I shouldn't laugh. But, Captain Kirk, the irony of this appeals to me; you've always loved having everything about you so much."

"Uhura," he said, "this is not the time. I'm miserable. I can't concentrate or relax. You have no idea how good it feels to be here with you two. At least I know, as long as I don't touch you, I won't have to hear from you."

Uhura sighed and slid down to make room on the bench beside her. Jim collapsed wearily and said, "You know, it never really occurred to me before, but what are the chances the two least emotive people on the ship would find each other and fall in love?"

Uhura narrowed her eyes. "I'm plenty emotive."

Spock cleared his throat. "Miss Uhura has been studying some Vulcan techniques, with interest in making her meditation time more productive. They may have had the unintended benefit of making her emotions somewhat shielded."

"Okay," Jim said, "that proves it. If you can teach Uhura, you can teach me. Come on, Spock. You're my only hope. I'm counting on you."

"It is not the sort of skill, captain, that one can master quickly."

"I'm a quick study, you'll see, I am highly motivated."

"Miss Uhura already practiced meditation. You do not," Spock said. "It requires a similar focus. I would recommend you first begin to meditate."

"Okay, I'll meditate. How hard can it be? Then what do I do?"

Spock blinked, which Jim had learned to recognize as the equivalent of Bones rubbing his forehead. "I have found," Spock said slowly, "it is helpful to take a step back from Mr. Chekov when he is, enthusiastic."

"And that is helpful for me how?" Jim asked.

"I am suggesting you attempt to keep some physical distance between the two of you. At times of loudest invasion, focus on your purpose. Practice meditation. That is all I can recommend."

"Meditate, stand back, and focus. Okay, got it, and you think this is going to help?"

"He just told you that he did," Uhura said. "Now why don't you go practice?"

"I don't know how to meditate, Uhura. I need Spock to tell me how."

"I'll send you instructions," she said, reaching for a communicator. "Wait for them in your quarters."

He said, "Send them quick." She shook her head over her communicator. _Was that selfish?_ he wondered, and said, "Well, I'll let you two get back to whatever it is you do."

"Tea," Uhura said through clenched teeth. "We are having tea. If you were to leave now, it would still be hot."

"Fine," Jim said. "I'll go start meditating. Remember, if either of you thinks of anything else, comm me. I mean it. I can't stand this."

Jim returned to his stateroom and paced until his PADD lit up. Then, he followed Uhura's instructions to darken the lights and called up the dull, bell-heavy, music she suggested. There were no fresh flowers or scented candles, but the dirty dinner plates smelled beefy, which was one of his favorite scents. He set them in front of the blower for the cooling system. He found the floor uncomfortable, so arranged himself on the couch and tried to empty his mind.

He wasn't good at it.

He thought, _okay, a clear mind_, and suddenly, all he could think of was Carol's soft skin. He tried to concentrate on the music and kept remembering her mocking smile. He paced the room again and told himself he should at least be fantasizing about Blanca. He sat down and tried one more time. His neck itched. It reminded him of something Carol used to do with her tongue. He gave up, took a shower, and went to bed.


	6. Scabs

Scabs

Jim woke early and went to the mess. He grabbed a coffee and a muffin then started toward the table he usually shared with Bones. Suddenly, he got the fluttery feeling and almost immediately was hit with sad, weary, boredom unlike any he'd experienced before.

He thought, _What would you even call this? It's like being crushed by air._ He looked around, trying to see who was responsible, and got a sinking feeling of his own. Sitting alone at a table against the wall was his alpha shift navigator.

Jim averted his eyes and hurried to his usual seat. He ducked his head and analyzed his feelings. He could find nothing but relief. _That's mine. Thank God, I must be out of range._

Jim couldn't resist taking a look across the mess. Chekov was staring listlessly into space, chin balanced on his fist. _Not my problem_, Jim reminded himself, stirring sugar into his coffee. He glanced again. There was no change. He fiddled with his muffin, then added sugar to his coffee twice more. Finally, he gave up. He took a deep breath and walked over to the young man.

"Chekov," he said.

The navigator looked up. His eyes widened in surprise, and Jim heard, {Oh no.} as the young man started to rise. Perhaps his mood had even slowed his thoughts; they were still busy, but not as frantic as they had been previously.

"Sit, at ease, uh, don't get up." Jim took the chair on the other side of the table and asked, "I was just wondering, how are you doing?"

"I am doing fine sir," Chekov said. Jim heard, {Fine, sir, the day looms before me like an open sewer of dread and despair, waiting for me to jump in. Thank you for asking.}

"Chekov, I," Jim began but radiated melancholy was strangling his ability to think. "Could you maybe, move back a little?" he asked, grasping for the table for support.

{I was here first.} "Sir," Chekov said steadily, "I cannot do as you ask. This bench is against the wall and does not move." The young man stood up. "I will leave, and you may have the table." {I get here early precisely because I don't want to wander around like an idiot looking for a place to eat and now he wants me to move? Because of a communicator? It isn't fair.}

"No, don't leave," Jim said desperately, "I'm sorry Chekov, I'm not making any sense." Compassion pushed through the bitterness, and he heard, {He was ill, it is wrong to feel angry with him.}

"Please, sir," Chekov said more kindly and stepped away. Jim heard, {If he wants this table, it is his, the whole ship is his. I will do as he says, no matter how stupid it seems. There is some other place for me perhaps, or I don't need to eat, it doesn't matter.}

"Chekov, sit down," Jim ordered. Chekov complied, looking up at his captain stonily. Jim felt frustration bloom, which was at least an emotion he recognized, and heard, {Just say what you want. I'm not afraid. It can't be worse than your gift of sixteen hours with Lt. Chen.}

What_ do I want to say?_ He had come over without a clear idea. He decided to wing it. "I realize you don't understand why I sent you down to the communication labs, and I thought I should explain."

"You do not owe me an explanation, sir," Chekov said, shaking his head, but in Jim's head he heard, {Yes, that is the very least you should do.}

I figure," he said, trying to think of a reasonable excuse quickly. "I figure, you're so good at puzzles. Yes, you're good at puzzles. And this language is a code; it's like a puzzle. You might be able to help them." Warming to the story, he added, "We're in orbit, there's no meaningful navigation to do. I want this puzzle solved quickly. I know I can trust you to work hard."

Immediately, he felt confusing waves of emotion: guilt, honor, resolve, and gratitude. {Captain Kirk does not have to explain himself to me, yet he does, because he is so good, the best captain in the galaxy. I will help him, I will concentrate, and I will solve this puzzle he cares about so much.}

"I didn't want you to think it was a punishment or anything," Jim said.

"Yes, sir, thank you," Chekov said, and Jim heard, {If he wishes it, I will do it. My good captain deserves nothing less. I am wrong to resent it. Perhaps when I succeed he will allow me back to where I belong.}

Jim felt pleased and a little proud, then realized with a start that they were his own emotions overpowering Chekov's apathy. It was good to feel something of his own, but he wondered why Chekov's mood wasn't improving. _Didn't you hear me? I'd have assumed you'd love the praise. _He said encouragingly, "You may even enjoy it. Future captains need to know every area of the ship you know."

Chekov muttered, "Yes, sir," and glanced away. Suddenly, Jim felt a flare of sorrow and heard, {And linguistics isn't engineering, so maybe I won't even kill anyone.}

"You didn't," Jim started, Chekov looked up at him, and smiled. Jim couldn't hear anything but could again feel the weary grief that was so unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He cast around desperately for something comforting to say. "You didn't uh, look happy when I came up."

"I am sorry, sir. I will be happier," Chekov said as Jim heard, {I have worried him. I am a child, not a man, and he feels responsible for me, No wonder he wants me off the bridge. I am hopeless. I will never be what he is.}

"Chekov," he said desperately, "you don't have to be happy all the time to please me. You're entitled to feel anything, even mad at me."

He heard, {I could never be mad at him.}

"Okay, now listen," he said, then remembered he shouldn't know what the younger man was thinking. He cleared his throat and continued, "I am not saying you don't have a right to feel whatever you want or do, or whatever, but it worries me to see you down. Why are you sad?"

"I'm not, sir."

He looked at the navigator doubtfully, trying to decide how to contradict him. Chekov added, "I was perhaps not so happy, but it is not important."

Jim asked curiously, "What exactly were you thinking about when I came up?"

"Sir?" Chekov said, and anxiety, enough to make Jim's heart rate speed up, flooded his system.

"When I came over just now; what were you thinking?"

"Nothing," Chekov bleated.

Remembering the strange, crushing emotion he'd sensed, Jim said, "You were thinking something," and heard, {I can't explain it to him. Even if I wanted to, I don't know the words for it. Look at him; he expects an answer. Now, what do I do? Shouldn't at least thoughts be private? Or maybe not, I don't know.}

"Chekov?" Jim said. Unused to uncertainty, he too was beginning to feel worried.

The navigator looked away nervously, and said aloud, "I don't know how to say it in Standard. In Russian, you'd say, skuka?"

"Skuka?" Jim repeated hesitantly. _Trust the Russians,_ he thought, _to have invented some special, extra exhausting, depression._ He heard, {He doesn't understand, it's my fault, I have lived away from home for years, how do I not know the word in Standard? I am so stupid.}

Chekov said. "Yes, sir, in French, is ennui."

"Ennui? Did you say ennui?"

"Yes sir," The younger man looked away and said quickly, "It is a feeling that nothing has meaning, and it is endless."

"I know what it is Chekov, well, I know what it is technically. I've never felt it before."

The younger man smiled sadly. {And you never will, but then, Lieutenant Chen will never call you a twitchy little freak in front of her entire division.}

Uncomfortable, Jim continued nervously, "I knew there had to be a word for it. It's ennui in English too. I'll have to ask Uhura what it is in Standard. Wow, that is something. It's like the most depressing bored ever! Thanks!"

Jim heard, {He picks odd things to be happy about,} then nothing. Jim was grateful, even though he assumed it meant Chekov was remembering Lt. Chen's insults instead of thinking about him. Deciding it might be a good time to slip away, he started to offer his goodbyes. Chekov nodded. Jim could feel the discontent creeping back, although this time it felt more wistful. Alarmed, he asked, "Are you okay, Chekov?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov said, with another miserable smile.

Jim heard, {He doesn't wish to know, and I must stop thinking.} I want_ everyone to stop thinking,_ Jim thought but remembered what Uhura had said about paying attention. "Don't just nod your head," he said. "Talk to me."

"I will solve your puzzle, Captain Kirk, I promise," Chekov replied firmly.

"Chekov, I...Do you feel this way often?"

Chekov looked surprised, then, answered slowly. "I do not feel this way often, sir; it is just, you are correct. I am not happy to be sent to linguistics. I am sorry, sir." In his head, Jim heard, {He is right. I am hopeless.}

"No, no, no," Jim said. "You don't have to be sorry for how you feel Chekov. It just kind of, worries me to see you down. I think of you as a very upbeat guy. Do you feel better now?" Chekov nodded and smiled. But in his head, Jim heard, {Sure, another day with Lt. Chen can't be more painful than whatever this is you're doing.}

Jim looked worriedly at his navigator, trying to decide what to say. Chekov stretched his mouth into a bigger smile, and Jim heard, {Please, please don't make me talk more, I don't understand what you want, and I know I am making this worse.} Shocked, Jim stuttered, "Okay, then, you should eat. I'll go."

"Yes, sir," Chekov said, reaching obediently for his spoon. Jim took a step back, eager to escape, but Chekov called, "Captain Kirk," and he stopped. He heard {It is selfish of me to have worried him. I must fix this.}

Looking almost as embarrassed as Jim knew he was feeling, Chekov said, "I am sorry I concerned you, sir. Please don't worry. Yes, I am unhappy, but it never lasts. It just happens, almost as if," The young man paused then blurted, "Sometimes, I believe, perhaps, I feel things more strongly than most people do."

"Oh, believe me, you do," Jim said. Chekov squinted at him, and he could feel confusion bubbling up, so, before the young man could say any more, he said, "There's Bones, got to go. Nice talking to you," and hurried off.

He rushed to his table and sat down, scooting his chair out of McCoy range. "Bones," he said. "This is horrible. You've got to help me."

"We're trying, kid, but we're starting from scratch. It's going to be a while before we have a solution. Maybe you should come down to the unit, take a break in the isolation unit."

"No, I can't stand that either. You keep working, and I'll try to avoid people. It's just so...weird and hard. I just had a bizarre conversation with Chekov. Let me tell you; it is a dark roller coaster ride in that kid's head. Seriously, it has to be exhausting to be him. I don't see how he stands it. I had no idea he was such a sensitive little soul. Did you?"

Bones didn't say anything, just looked at Jim appraisingly, with an eyebrow raised.

"What?" asked Jim, "I can't read your mind, thank God."

"Yes," McCoy said, "I know he is sensitive. Eat your muffin, captain."

He was hungry and tore it open, so roughly that half of it bounced to the floor. He gobbled what was left, finishing before the robots arrived to clean up after him. As usual, he felt better with some food in his stomach.

He made it to the bridge without incident. Rand was busy and sent some underling with his coffee. She shared a keen sexual attraction and many complimentary thoughts. He was surprised to find the experience uncomfortable, but it kept reminding him of Carol. Then he remembered Blanca and felt worse. He wondered if he would be able to hear Rand, and desperately hoped she would be like Sulu, and not easy.

An enlisted man from maintenance made the regularly scheduled check of the bridge. Droids did most of the cleaning, but sentient crewmembers evaluated their work. The man was more than three meters away when Jim suddenly began to feel someone else's disgust and heard, {Here's the bridge crew, like pigs in a sty.} The fact that he could listen in let him know the worker included him in the evaluation. He gave the crewman a sympathetic look and heard, {There's Captain Porker T. Boar, in the flesh and stained shirt,} which almost made him laugh, but he remembered it would look odd, so, he controlled himself.

As the enlisted man quietly checked items off on a PADD, Jim heard, {Throw another muffin on the floor, you selfish piggie. One of these days I'm going to snap, and then we'll see who's left to clean up the bacon.}

_Is he talking about breakfast? That was an accident_. He looked around to see if he'd spilled anything on the bridge. He smiled at the maintenance worker, and heard, {Your charming act might fool some people, piggie, but maintenance sees everything. I know how you are.}

Jim knew he shouldn't respond and tried to content himself with staring icily at the enlisted man until he left. He stayed in his chair until lunch, then went to the mess. Eating was difficult, both because he was trying to be tidy and because the room was so busy. As members of the crew rushed by, his knees kept fluttering. They moved too quickly for him to hear much, but it was impossible to enjoy his meal.

He started back to the deck. While waiting for the turbo lift his knees fluttered, and a feeling of discontent shot up. _Now, what,_ he wondered, and turned to see Lt. Commander Giotto his chief of security saluting sharply.

"At ease, Giotto, he said. _I don't have time to deal with you now_, he thought and added. "What can I do for you, chief?"

"Captain Kirk," Giotto said. "It has come to my attention, sir, that you have been discouraging my division from maintaining proper military discipline."

"Is this about the salutes?" he asked, and heard, {How does he stand that ridiculous hair flopping in his face all day?}

"Yes, sir," Giotto replied. {'The salutes' he says. Like a salute is something in the bargain bin at the five and dime and not the basis of military discipline.}

_My hair is not floppy,_ Jim thought, but said, "The crew respects me. They don't have to demonstrate it by constantly saluting."

"Captain Kirk," Giotto said. "Military code of conduct says that junior officers will salute on the first daily meeting all senior officers attached to the ship. Salute whenever addressing or being..."

"Addressed, I know," Jim interrupted. "You've mentioned it several times now. However, everyone on board is my subordinate. What is an occasional thing for them is a nearly constant thing for me. I don't like it. I will tolerate once a day. I would prefer never."

"Captain Kirk, I am attempting," Giotto droned on, explaining his belief that military discipline was essential for the safety of the crew. Having heard it many times, Jim carefully assumed an interested expression and didn't listen, until he heard, {I know you're not listening. You make me miss Pike.}

Startled, Jim took a step back. _We all miss Pike_, he thought. The turbo-lift opened; Jim jumped in. "We'll talk later," he mumbled as the doors closed.

_I agree; __I'm no Christopher Pike, _he thought._ I wish I were. I do my best._

He took his seat and spent the second half of the shift second-guessing his career, occasionally wondering if Chekov's ennui had been contagious.

He finally heard Sulu at shift change. They were forced to stand unusually close when a large crowd of chattering ensigns pushed past them into the lift. His joints fluttered, and he felt a calm disinterest, very unlike anything he usually experienced. Curious, he asked Sulu if he was on his way to the gym, and knew he had guessed right when Sulu said, "No sir, not today," and heard, {Thanks to you, I'll be too busy serving as a human shield between Betty Chen and Pav.}

"You're doing what?" he asked, then corrected himself, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a sandwich to linguistics sir," Sulu replied pleasantly and held up a tidily wrapped roll. "They're working sixteen-hour shifts down there. I thought Chekov might need a snack."

"That's nice of you," Jim said. "Maybe try and get him to talk to you, he seemed a little down this morning."

"Yes, captain," Sulu said with a nod. Jim heard, {Nice that you're concerned, but, since it's your fault, maybe you could go be the one who gets to enjoy an evening of repetitive complaining.}

Once he reached the peace of his quarters, he decided he couldn't face another meal in the mess. He commed Rand and asked her to bring him dinner. He explained that he planned to spend the evening catching up on paperwork. She sounded so grateful he felt guilty and decided actually to do it. He directed his PADD to open the communique, forms, and notifications he tended to ignore and started reading.

When Rand arrived, he stood well inside the room and reached for the tray. But he still got a sense of intense curiosity and heard, {What's this, Captain Playboy's by himself? I just assumed he was preparing to entertain. And what's with the modest? Least he could do after calling me down here is to show a little skin, it's not like him to be so selfish,} while Rand thanked him for his effort.

When the door closed, and he was alone, he looked at the work he had called up and remembered what Spock had said about Midas. He sighed.


	7. Music

Chapter Seven

It's Music

The next morning, Jim went to breakfast early, hoping to avoid any insights into Chekov's mood. However, the navigator was already there when he arrived, sitting alone in a corner, paying more attention to a PADD than his food.

Jim stuck to the margins of the room, trying to stay out of range. With one eye on Chekov and working hard not to spill his very full tray, he nearly ran into two ensigns. Immediately, his brain was doused with their longing to talk. He couldn't bear to disappoint them and tried to keep the conversation quick, but the ensigns kept him until they left for their shifts.

McCoy was halfway through his breakfast when Jim finally reached their table. "You're late," the doctor observed.

Jim asked, "Bones, what if you put a probe in my brain and burned that new conduit out?"

"You're a starship captain, not a frog, Jim. I'm not going to pith you."

"I'm willing to try anything at this point."

McCoy set his coffee down, frowned at his friend and said, "As a last-ditch effort, if everything else fails, we'll consider it. In the meantime, it hasn't even been a week. It will get easier. Spock told me he recommended you try meditation. How's that going?"

"Fine." Jim hadn't actually done any meditating after his first attempt. He'd planned to, but he'd forgotten the dirty plates in front of the blower. The odor hadn't been conducive to relaxing. "When did Spock tell you that?"

"Yesterday," McCoy said, spooning up some grits. He added, "I know it might not seem like it kid, but we are concerned."

"I know Bones, and I appreciate it, I do. I had no idea how much everyone on this ship is concerned about me until they started dumping it in my brain. I guess that's the good part of this situation, but everything takes so long when you're trying to make everyone happy."

"Jim," McCoy said seriously. "This is what I was worried about. You can't command them and worry about their happiness. Doing what's best for the ship keeps them alive. Believe me, in the long run, that will make them happy."

"I guess," Jim said.

McCoy studied his friend skeptically. "One of your strengths has always been your faith in yourself."

"Yeah, but I can't help thinking..." Jim's voice trailed off, and he asked, "Now what?"

"Huh?" McCoy grunted.

"Look at Chekov."

McCoy turned around. The ensign had jumped up and was standing by his table, muttering to himself, and staring into space.

"What's he doing?" Jim asked.

"Who knows?" McCoy asked. "If you ask me, this is an excellent time to start practicing shutting things out."

"Now look," Jim instructed.

McCoy turned back. Muttering to himself, Chekov started to walk towards the door, stopped, ran back to the table, grabbed his PADD and bolted from the room, running full speed, leaving his untouched breakfast on the table.

McCoy shrugged. "Whatever it was, he's done doing it now," and returned to his food.

"I'll be right back," Jim said, standing up.

"Where are you going?" McCoy asked.

Jim gestured to the table Chekov had vacated. "I'm going to bus his tray. I don't want the maintenance people yelling at him. He's a sensitive guy, and he's not having a great week."

Entering the bridge, he asked, "Status Mr. Sulu?"

Sulu replied calmly, "We are in standard orbit above MC688, captain. There has been no contact with our research teams since 0730; at that time, all teams checked in and reported no difficulties."

The orbit was stable; there were no messages from command; he was caught up on paperwork. Ordinarily, on mornings like this, he liked to hand Sulu the conn and take a little walkabout. But there was nowhere to go. It would be counterproductive to disturb Bones or Spock while they were working on a cure. Uhura had been specific that she would call when she wanted to see him. Engineering was absolutely out of the question. By now, Scotty would know about Chekov's banishment. As bad as it had been to listen to Chekov blame himself, Jim felt sure it would be worse to listen to Scotty blame him. He took his seat and tried to wait patiently.

An hour later, Jim stretched his cramped legs and wondered if ennui was contagious. The comm on his chair buzzed. Grateful for the interruption, he toggled it. "Kirk," he said.

"This is Uhura."

"Anything to report lieutenant?" he asked, without much hope.

"I think you might want to hear this in person, Captain Kirk," Uhura said.

He jumped up happily. "I'm on my way. Sulu, you have the conn."

The research labs were a series of sterile, white rooms located in the bowels of the ship. They were differentiated by the specific tools that left by the scientists who staffed them, and usually, silly posters or pictures of the researchers at play. Communication's lab contained listening devices, tone makers, translators, files, charts, PADDs, and even a few books. There were no silly posters on display. The department took their work seriously. Entering their space always made Jim feel like a grubby little kid again, provoking Riverside, Iowa's librarian.

Today, as soon as the doors swung open, Uhura and her division jumped to attention. Careful to keep a table between him and the red-shirted scientists, Jim said, "At ease, all." The linguistic team didn't relax.

"Captain," Uhura greeted him. "You know Lieutenants Chen, Ch'etaolot, Brown, and Ensign Pel."

"Sure," he said, smiling confidently, although he didn't. "You have some news for me?"

"Yes, sir," Uhura said proudly. "We believe the writing samples from the planet are a directional pronouncement guide, instructions on the manipulation of sound."

"Great." He was disappointed but tried to hide it.

"Do you understand what this means, sir?" Uhura asked.

"Now you know what you're looking at?" he guessed. He'd hoped for more but wanted to be encouraging. "Okay, well, good work all of you. Keep pushing forward."

"Progress should speed up," a petite lieutenant said, "now that Lt. Uhura will no longer insist this is an alphabet-based language."

Uhura's jaw tightened. "I don't recall you ever mentioning your disapproval before, Chen," she said.

"To be fair," the Andorian said, "it has the typical markers, and was the finding of the linguistic analysis program."

"It's a reminder to us all that the odds favoring something does not automatically make it true," Uhura said.

"Excellent point," Ch'etaolot agreed. "We could prepare a paper and completely refute the work of Dr. Babette Morris."

"I read her article in the last Linguistic News," Uhura said, "I remember thinking it oversimplified the process."

"So, it's not an alphabet?" interrupted Jim, who was not interested in listening to a discussion of communication theory.

"No," Uhura said. She looked at her team members, and said, "You've earned a break. Get some coffee. I'll fill the captain in on what we've learned. We'll reconvene here in 60 minutes."

As her division members filed out, Jim asked, "You haven't translated anything yet; shouldn't they keep working?"

Uhura said sharply, "We need privacy, in case we end up discussing, you know, your issue. Plus, their noses are all a little out of joint about how we got our breakthrough. Listening to me tell you about it would not help."

Jim nodded. "What's up with Chen?"

Uhura shook her head. "She's good, but she can be a little difficult to work with."

"You're not the only one I've heard say that. Speaking of, where's Chekov?" he asked. He'd tried to prepare himself for the psionic blast that was his youngest crew member but felt nothing.

Uhura pointed behind her. "He's asleep under the lab table," she said. "I told him to take a break while I checked a few things, and he went right off. I am wondering if he worked on this all night."

"And maybe this morning," Jim said, remembering the mess.

Uhura shrugged. "Are you going to want an official Starfleet officer's report or the interesting stuff?"

"Interesting of course," Jim said with a smile.

"Then, I won't explain why this looked like an alphabet-based language," Uhura began.

"Thank you. I did say interesting."

"Suffice it to say, when you ordered me to get translating quickly, I decided to have the whole division work on the most likely assumption. I wouldn't have done that normally."

"Uhura, I don't care. It worked. You solved it."

"I didn't, though. I accidentally stumbled onto the answer. I like to think I would have gotten it eventually, but because of your interference, it might not have been for a while."

Jim sighed. "Is the interesting ever going to start?"

"I had us working as a group," she said, "trying the usual things you do to interpret an alphabet-based language when Pavel showed up. I gave him some writing samples and told him to arrange them in groups by characteristics they had in common. I didn't expect him to find anything useful. We'd already run everything through the linguistic analysis program. I just wanted to keep him busy, but his morning he ran in here and said, 'This is a musical score.' I'm not going to lie; my first thought was that I didn't have time to deal with his delusions. My division started explaining that he was mistaken."

"I'm guessing especially Lt. Chen," Jim said.

Uhura shrugged. "He tried to explain how he knew, but he's not a specialist. He doesn't know the right words, so he went to the tone generators to show us what he meant. He played the same phrase in different keys and octaves. The truth is, he happened on a combination I recognized."

"Great work," Jim said.

"No, it was a series of accidents."

"That doesn't make it less great."

She continued, "We may be wrong. The computer should have recognized all forms of Federation member languages, and it doesn't know this one. However, I played it some passages, and it identified the language the same way I did. It translates it as gibberish though, and insists the writing samples aren't related to it."

"But you think you're right," he said.

"I do," she said slowly. "I don't know why I'm so positive, but I am."

"It's your gut," he explained. "I'm a believer in listening to your gut. What language is it?"

"Bhaahaha."

Jim's hope fizzled. "That's impossible. The Bhaahaha couldn't have colonized MC688. The environment isn't right."

Uhura looked smug. "I checked. There is evidence of a colossal earthquake about eight hundred Earth years ago. It changed the coastlines. Until then, the area we are excavating was seacoast. We've been operating under the assumption the civilization on the planet started when the land appeared down there. I think it was probably the opposite. When the seas retreated, the colony collapsed."

"Uhura, I am impressed," he said, excited again.

"Thank you, sir," she said happily. "It isn't Bhaahah, though. I would have recognized Bhaahah."

"I believe you."

"It's the sounds though. In the right key, they sound Bhaahahan. I'm confident enough that I sent a copy to the head of the communications department at their largest university, asking for help."

Jim said, "That was a great idea."

She nodded. "We should hear back soon. I am hopeful they will recognize what we have, or know something, or give us a clue about where to look next. My question for you is, how much about your situation can I share?"

"Let's hear what they say before we decide. I don't care, but Spock thinks we shouldn't publicize the device's existence. Let's go to sickbay and fill McCoy in on this. He's good at discussing medical issues without giving away much detail," Jim said.

As they hurried to the medical unit, Jim said, "This is the first good news I've had since this started, Uhura. Good work."

Uhura shook her head. "I would still be trying to make an alphabet if Chekov hadn't out analyzed the computer."

"He does that all the time, Uhura. That's how he got his post," Jim said.

"What bothers me," Uhura said, "is that I'm no better than Chen. It never entered my head that someone without specialized training could be of any help."

Jim couldn't keep from saying. "I, however, sensed otherwise."

Uhura laughed. "I guess then you deserve the credit for solving it. I wonder how Betty Chen will feel about that?"

They passed the bridge's maintenance worker, and Jim felt fury and heard himself make pig noises. He pushed past, refusing to let it detract from his good mood.

They joined McCoy in his office, Uhura explained her findings. "This is encouraging, Jim," he said.

"Yes," Jim agreed. As a precaution, he put his chair against the wall, keeping as much space as possible between him and Bones. "When do you think we can expect to hear back from Bhaahaha?"

"I would think soon," Uhura replied.

"I'm impressed Nyota," McCoy said. "You've achieved more in just a few days than the rest of us combined."

"I don't deserve credit," Uhura said. "I was off on a tangent."

"That was my fault. I directed you there," Jim said. Uhura looked both pleased and touched, and he was glad he had said it.

Uhura's communicator beeped. She opened it. "This is Uhura."

"Lieutenant, you have received a communique from Bhaahaha. It's on official channels but marked personal," said Ensign Vave, currently covering the bridge.

"Pipe it down here," whispered McCoy. Uhura nodded and repeated the instructions to Vave. Jim drummed his fingers, trying to let off steam.

The screen on Bone's desk lit up. It displayed a sizeable gray face, like a pale, bearded manatee in a wig. "Lieutenant Uhura," it thundered, in a heavily accented, bassoon like voice. "I am Professor Haapha Ruffferfaaf. It was such a pleasure to receive your communication this morning."

Noted for their scientific work and their commitment to the arts, the Bhaahaha's entire peaceful, introspective civilization existed in the shallow water along the coasts of their planet's many small continents. They were long-time members of the UFP. They had been one of the first space-going species. Their large, walrus-like bodies were well equipped for movement in low gravity environments but awkward on land.

"It's an honor to speak to you professor," Uhura said, and then made some low, throaty noises.

Jim looked at her worriedly, but the professor laughed like a booming drum and said, "I am impressed, Bhaahah is not an easy language for Terrans."

"There are a great many sounds below and above my speaking range," Uhura agreed, "But it is so beautiful, I had to try."

"I say again, I am impressed, but we will do best if we speak in Standard," the professor said. "I looked with interest at the samples you sent."

"Did you recognize them?" Jim asked eagerly, ignoring the look Uhura shot him.

"Professor," Uhura said, "may I please introduce to you, James T. Kirk, captain of the Enterprise and our chief medical officer, Leonard McCoy. He is the captain's physician."

"Sir, it is a pleasure," McCoy said, nodding his head.

"The pleasure is mine," Rufferfaaf began.

"And mine," Jim said hurriedly. "Did you recognize them?"

"I can explain the captain's excitement," Uhura said, giving Jim another look.

"I did indeed," Rufferfaaf said. Jim felt his pulse quicken.

"It's not Bhaahah," Uhura said.

"No, you are correct, it looks nothing like modern Bhaahah. What you have is written in a precursor to Bhaahah, a now extinct dialect, once much in use. The closest equivalent familiar to you would be Old English, or perhaps, primary Vash. Those are not perfect examples, though."

"Fascinating," Uhura breathed. Jim rolled his eyes.

"To further complicate the puzzle," the professor said, "your note was written in a purposely abbreviated fashion."

"A code?" Uhura asked, "to hide the meaning?"

"No," Rufferfaaf shook his massive head, "to ease the retention of information. It was a form of note-taking, out of fashion for generations but once quite popular. According to the research I did this morning, the equivalent on your planet was called shorthand. Each guild had their form. A member of the medical community wrote your example."

"They're treatment notes?" McCoy asked.

"More like random words to help a unity worker remember what should be in the notes later, when they had time to write them," Rufferfaaf clarified.

"Fascinating," McCoy murmured, "and manuscript lasted this long-buried in a bog?"

"That is not surprising," Rufferfaaf said. "Anything constructed by Bhaahahans is designed to withstand water."

"I suppose," McCoy agreed.

"The question is," Rufferfaaf said, "why would it have been left behind? Our culture does not leave waste behind."

Wondering why no one seemed eager to get to the point, Jim interrupted. "Can you translate it?" he asked.

"Easily," the professor said. He looked at the screen on his table and sang a long passage full of low throbbing notes."

"Beautiful, thank you," Uhura said. The professor nodded.

"What's it mean?" Jim asked.

The professor said, "Let's see, you would say, 'despite agreement, have not yet.'"

"That's it?" Jim asked.

The professor nodded.

"Oh," Jim said, disappointed.

Uhura looked at him, and then at the screen. "But you could translate other examples of the language?"

"Oh yes, with a little preparation my graduate students would be able to assist you. May I ask where you found this?"

Uhura said. "The language samples come from what we thought was a lost civilization but may instead be a Bhaahahan outpost."

"I do not understand. Why you would wish to translate debris?" the professor asked.

McCoy glanced at Jim, who nodded. The doctor said, "While on the planet, the captain inadvertently came in contact with what we thought was pottery. Since that time he's acquired the ability to feel others' emotions, and under specific circumstances, hear others' thoughts. He is very eager to lose this ability. We are hoping that somewhere, among all the ruins down there, we might find something to help him."

"Did you say your captain experiences the emotions of others?" Rufferfaaf asked.

"Yes, and, some of their thoughts," McCoy added.

Rufferfaaf's whiskers fluttered, and he muttered to himself in a minor key.

"I beg your pardon," asked Uhura.

"Is it possible?" Rufferfaaf asked.

"I assure you, it is," McCoy said. Jim nodded.

"I have heard of this," Rufferfaaf said slowly. "As it is said, no wickedness ever truly ends."

"Profound. Are you saying you've heard of the technology?" Jim asked.

Rufferaaf continued to himself, "But why would they have left it? Surely even a damaged Bhaahahan would never despoil the water with trash. What happened?"

"The technology?" Jim asked again, "you've heard of it?"

The professor blinked as if surprised to see them. "Yes, I know it, or I think I do. If I am correct, it is ancient, from many great grandsire's time. That would be more than one thousand of your Terran years."

"We're dating the collapse of the colony to 800 Terran years ago," Uhura said, "when the ocean withdrew."

"But we were gone before that," Rufferfaaf said. "Once we developed new treatment methods, we did not need to use such primitive ones and abandoned the facilities. Ordinarily, we would have removed all traces of our presence. I wonder why they did not properly close this one?"

"It wasn't a colony?' Uhura asked.

"No, no, not at all." He tapped nervously at the water around him with long fingers on the underside of his flippers. "We do not colonize. Unity on our homeworld is the tide of our civilization. However, we did once, in time of serious threat, create off-world education sites, designed to assist those that were not able to live harmoniously in our society."

"They were penal colonies?" Uhura prompted.

"No, not as I understand the meaning of that phrase. These were pleasant places for those needing time to learn what is required to be Bhaahaha. The residents and staff were intended to be there only temporarily."

"They were re-education centers." McCoy clarified.

"Yes, I suppose, although not in the sense of which I suspect you are thinking. While the camps do not represent the finest hour among our people, never was there any attempt to brutalize our citizens into submission to society. The emphasis was always truly on education."

"When you say you've heard of this, do you mean, you've heard of the device that made me this way?" Jim asked, unable to wait any longer.

"Yes, that is what I mean." the professor said.

Jim exchanged a look with Bones.

"Do you know how it works? Would you be able to help the captain with his situation?" McCoy asked.

"I would not," Rufferfaaf replied, "but there are many that could. I believe so, most assuredly, yes. Could you come here, captain? To our university? I think here I could find those with the knowledge you seek."

"Oh, I could get there," Jim said eagerly. "I will leave right now, and I will be there," he thought, wondering if Spock could be forced to agree the trip was emergent enough to allow them to hurry. He decided to risk it. "tomorrow."

"Excellent Captain Kirk. I will send my direct information; comm me with specifics. I will leave you now and seek those that can help you."

"Professor, I can not thank you enough," Jim said.

Rufferfaaf shook his shaggy head. "Thank me when we succeed captain. As the elders say," the professor rumbled for five minutes. Just when Jim thought his head might actually explode, the professor finished and translated, "It is only common courtesy to clean up after one's self. In this case, one's people."

Rufferfaaf bowed again, "I look forward to meeting you tomorrow." and the screen went dark.

Jim turned to Uhura, controlling a desire to hug her. "Thank you," he said.

She shrugged. "Like the professor said, thank me after we succeed."

He reached for Bones' screen and toggled a control. Sulu's face appeared.

"Yes, sir?" Sulu asked.

"Mr. Sulu set course for Bhaahaha, and proceed there at warp four."

"Yes sir, setting course for Bhaahaha at warp four." If Sulu was surprised, he didn't show it. The screen went dark.

Jim announced, "All I have to do is endure another twenty-four hours."


	8. Mr Scott Finds the Captain

Mr. Scott Finds the Captain

The next morning, Jim joined McCoy at their usual table. "You look chipper," the doctor said crankily.

Jim shrugged. "It's mostly not mine. I got too close to Chekov's table and supersaturated in happy."

"What the hell does anyone feel happy about at 0630?" McCoy asked, stretching to peer at the navigator's table. "Looks like half the yeomen's corp joined him for breakfast."

"That'd do it," Jim agreed.

"God, I'm glad not to be young anymore," McCoy muttered. He stirred his oatmeal and added, "How about you? We'll make Bhaahaha today; hopefully, you'll get your regular life back. I'm guessing you've had about enough of understanding how other people feel."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "I'm ready to get back to being my insensitive self." He cut his toast into bite-sized pieces and ate them tidily, one at a time, ignoring Bones' confused expression.

Uhura, with Spock following close behind her, stopped at the table. "I thought I should warn you," she said. "You have a problem."

"Just one?" Jim asked. "I'd consider that a good day."

"There's nothing left for my team to do," Uhura said. "They'll be returning to their regular assignments."

"Great," he said, returning to his food. "Good work, Uhura."

"Including Chekov," she said.

Jim tossed his fork across the table angrily. "That won't work," he said. "Keep him with you."

"I need to write my report," Uhura said.

"Have him, I don't know, edit it or something," Jim suggested.

Uhura raised a scornful eyebrow. "I don't need an editor, and he'll distract me if he's there. Are you honestly suggesting I should allow him to bother me so that he won't bother you?"

"I'm the captain, Uhura, you're the loyal crew," Jim said, "don't you want to do that?"

"Confine him to quarters," McCoy suggested. "That's out of range."

Jim asked, "I can't do that. Why don't you invent some illness and keep him in sickbay?"

"Our patients have actual problems. I'm not wasting a bed on a healthy man just so you can avoid feeling uncomfortable," McCoy said.

"You wouldn't call it uncomfortable if you ever had to share his depression," Jim muttered.

"Buck up. Weren't you just bragging about how insensitive you are?" McCoy asked.

"You two have weird conversations," Uhura said softly.

"You've had Chekov assist you before, Spock," Jim wheedled.

"I would be willing to do so again. However, Lt. Commander Ghuhk has been quite clear that he believes his lab space to be inadequate for both of us. I do not believe he would welcome another," Spock replied.

"You're sharing lab space with the Tellarite?" McCoy asked. "I wish I could hear a few of those discussions."

"They are not discussions," Spock replied. "Mr. Ghuhk expresses opinions, and I continue my research. A Vulcan does not,"

"Argue, get insulted, or respond. I know, you've mentioned all the things Vulcans don't do several times," McCoy said, adding, "Just because it was one-sided doesn't mean I wouldn't enjoy it."

Spock raised an eyebrow then turned deliberately to Jim. "The engineering docket calls for the next watch to be spent evaluating the repairs to the port nacelle. Mr. Chekov would be capable of participating."

Jim sighed. "Engineering it is," he said. "Who wants to tell him?"

"Sir," Spock began.

"Rhetorical, Spock, I know I'm the logical choice." Jim pushed his tray away and started for Chekov's table. He anticipated more, but approaching Chekov's table, Jim felt nothing but his own unwillingness to proceed. He was not surprised when the yeomen, sounding like a flock of admiring sparrows in his head, said the navigator had left for the bridge. Sighing, Jim went to the turbolift.

As he stepped onto the bridge, Jim's knees fluttered almost immediately. He looked around, trying to distract himself from the happy excitement he was feeling. At the helm, Sulu laughed loudly. Glancing that way, Jim saw Chekov throw his hands out, clearly finishing whatever story he'd been telling. Noticing Jim Chekov grinned and called, "Captain on the bridge."

All around him, the crew came to attention. _He's so happy; I can't do it,_ Jim thought. _It's only a couple of hours. I'll__ tough it out. How hard can it be?_ "At ease," he said and started to the helm. Immediately his head filed with Chekov's whirlwind musings. It was challenging to remember what he wanted to do over the cacophony. Taking his seat, he rubbed his head and told himself to focus. "Report, Mr. Sulu?" he asked.

"On course to Bhaahaha, warp factor two. ETA twelve hours," Sulu replied.

_Twelve hours? "_Increase speed," he started, then got a burst of joy so intense he felt giddy.

"Chekov," he barked.

"Yes, sir." {This is going to be great! Order us to go fast. You can do it, come on, come on, do it.}

He gave up. It was impossible to concentrate s over the navigator's staccato thoughts and soaring emotions. He said more quietly, "Mr. Chekov," the young man looked at him eagerly. {yes, yes, yes, what do you want, I am ready, let's go, yes, yes.} He hardened his heart and said, "Go down to engineering. Have Mr. Scott show you how he repaired the damage done to the ship by the Orions."

Chekov opened his mouth, closed it, dropped his head, and muttered, "Aye, sir," and stood up, looking bereft. {But, I did what you wanted.} Jim could feel embarrassment and anger, but mostly confusion as the young man walked past him to the lift. Sulu watched him go, expression carefully blank. Jim heard. {He doesn't want me here.} as the lift door closed. The bridge was still, but so was his head.

He turned to Sulu. "Who's up for navigation?"

"Mr. Trev would return sir," Sulu said. He added hopelessly, "Unless, you would prefer to wait until Mr. Chekov is available?"

"I," Jim began, and then sighed and said. "No Trev is fine. Make sure he uses Chekov's course. I want to reach our destination as soon as possible. Increase speed to warp factor four."

Rand came by with his coffee and the morning reports. He got the fluttery feeling, and signed quickly, trying unsuccessfully to finish the process before he picked up any of her thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," Rand said, frowning. {What's up with the bum's rush, James T.? You're not usually so dull.}

Rand's concern seemed genuine and lewd speculation, he said, "I know you have lots to do."

She smiled skeptically. Jim heard, {nLike you care?} before she got out of range.

_Of_ course,_ I care. Why doesn't she know that? _He absently brushed back his hair. His elbow caught his mug and sent it flying, flinging coffee in a dark arc. It dripped from his chair to the carpet.

He pushed his call button. "Rand," he said. "I spilled my coffee."

She said, "I'll bring you another sir, and notify housekeeping.

"That's not necessary," he said, dabbing at the enlarging stain.

"Oh, it is, sir," she replied, already pushing buttons on her PADD,

Maintenance sent the regular enlisted man. He sneered when he saw the spill and exuded derision. Jim heard, {A Captain Kirk special: coffee with extra sugar, ground into the leather by greasy hands and no respect for my work.}

The hatred grew more intense, and Jim realized some of it was his own. He forced himself to be polite. "Sorry," he said unwillingly.

"Yes, sir." The young man scrubbed forcefully at the side of the chair. {This is real wood. It has to be cleaned by hand, and there are standards for minimum shininess. Does he care? No. Does he clean up after himself? No.}

_He expects me to clean up spilled coffee? Seriously? I am captain of this starship; it would be too bad if we got blasted out of existence while I was distracted tidying up._

Rand arrived with a steaming mug. "Two sugars, right?" she asked, handing Jim his cup and glaring at the enlisted man. Jim got a confusing blast of protectiveness. {What's Drexel doing here? Everyone knows he hates James. He better be polite or he's answering to me.}

"I thought food isn't not allowed on the bridge," the young man said, scowling as he dumped the cleaning supplies into a kit.

"Those rules don't apply to Captain Kirk," Rand said haughtily. "It's his ship."

Jim tried to explain, "I spend a lot of time here," he said, "sometimes I need to eat, and," Jim stopped. Drexel was radiating contempt such as Jim had never experienced for anything.

"Exactly," Rand said, sharing a superior feeling. "And we are lucky that he does."

Drexel didn't reply aloud, just thought, {Go ahead, Rand. Load up the trough again; sooey,} and left as quietly as he had come.

Rand watched him go, spilling satisfaction. {I got your back, James T. How dare some enlisted janitor tell you what to do?}

"I," he began, but stopped, uncertain if he should thank her or tell her she shouldn't think that way about the enlisted people. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, and he felt a giddy rush of interest. {Ooooh, he's bringing out the vulnerable look, one of my favorites. He's making it easy to like him today.}

_She likes me? I've never been sure, _he thought. _That's nice to know._ He said, "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome, sir," she said crisply, and left again, still feeling triumphant.

His viewer lit up as he took his first sip. "Captain," Spock said, "you have perhaps forgotten Starfleet guidelines pertaining to speed during non-emergent travel."

"How kind of you to take time from your important research to call and cite regulations to me," Jim said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is not a regulation, sir, it is, however, a strong recommendation."

"Thank you," Jim said, cutting him off. "Mr. Sulu, drop speed to warp two."

"Dropping speed to warp two," Sulu replied coldly, without turning around.

The ship slowed in the way the manuals always insisted was indetectable. Spock nodded and broke the link. Jim drank his coffee and tried to think of a reasonable excuse for transferring the custodian off the ship._ Or, at least the bridge. This pig stuff is getting old. I'm up here for eighteen hours some days; people spill things. Also, I am the captain. He should be respectful._

The day passed slowly.

He took a break during beta shift and went to the gym. Jim didn't need psychic powers to know Sulu was mad at him. The helmsman left the weight room without even acknowledging him. Jim loaded on some extra weight and wished he could explain.

Later, in the mess, Jim encountered a group of very young yeomen carrying what looked like a picnic. Their whispers and the looks they gave him would have been enough, but he got weak-kneed and heard how much at least one of them resented his treatment of Chekov.

Telling himself it was silly to feel guilty, Jim joined Spock and Uhura at the table they were sharing with Bones. He started his dinner but was interrupted by the fluttery feeling. Then, something strong and fierce invaded his consciousness. He tried to identify it. The closest he could come up with was, happily angry.

"Weird," he said.

"What?" Bones asked.

I am getting a very peculiar emotion. I'm not sure what it is, and I'm not sure from whom."

"I think I can guess," McCoy replied and nodded towards the replicators where Montgomery Scott, the chief engineer was stomping toward them. Keenser, engineering's second in command, scurried behind him. Both officers were glaring at Jim and holding full plates of food.

"Scotty," Jim sighed. "It's ridiculous, I can hear him from here. That's almost as far as Chekov."

"It's probably going to get louder. He's coming this way," Uhura said.

Scott tossed his plate onto the table, yanked out a chair and sat down, "Enjoying your meal, captain?"

"Yes," Jim said slowly. He kicked out a chair. "Take a seat Keenser; it appears you're joining us."

"I'm sure you are enjoying your meal," Scott said. "Why wouldn't you? You're here without a care in the world. Too bad not everyone gets that privilege, but then you're the captain, aren't you? Captains can do what they want, say what they want."

"I guess," Jim said. "You seem," He paused, searching for the right word, "angry?" He wasn't sure if it was angry.

"Angry? I'm not angry, Captain Kirk. Do you want to know what I feel? I'll tell you. This is righteous indignation."

"Oh. Okay, sure, I get that," Jim said.

"Now you know," Bones said.

"Why the ang, righteous indignation, Scotty?" asked Uhura, in that soothing voice she always used when the senior officers were acting crazy.

"Our captain does not appreciate his crew."

"This is about Chekov?" Jim asked bitterly.

"Don't waste my time pretending to feel guilty. I know perfectly well; you're not sorry."

"I don't feel guilty, and I don't have to explain," Jim said, "but I thought it would be an excellent opportunity for him."

"Ha," Scotty said, and stabbed at his pile of sausages.

"I did," Jim lied.

"He told me that's what you'd say. He's even trying to convince himself of that, but I know the truth."

"You do?" Jim and Uhura said at the same time.

"Sure," Scotty said. "This is about that communicator."

"Communicator?" asked McCoy.

Jim explained wearily, "Chekov lost his communicator again. When he told me, I pretended he was getting discharged. It was a joke."

"I told you he believed it," Uhura said primly.

Jim threw out his hands. "Why does he believe everything I say except that this time away from the bridge isn't a punishment?"

"Have you ever seen the like of him?" Scotty asked Keenser. Turning back to Jim, he continued, "I don't know why you've suddenly taken it into your head to take a stand. You go about for years; all devil may care, then out of the blue get up one morning and say, 'I believe I'll be a hard ass.'"

"No, I think I'd remember saying that," Jim muttered.

Scotty ignored him. "It's well and good to be firm captain, but you need to use some sense about where and when. It was a communicator, I know it's not the first time, but what do you care? It's not like the admirals will be taking the cost out of your pay."

"It was a joke," Jim said again.

Scotty continued as if Jim hadn't spoken. "So, you've suddenly decided to become a rule-follower dishing out discipline? How about you start on someone who needs it and not the members of my division? I'll take care of any correcting that needs doing to my people."

"He hangs out there, but you know he's not actually in your division right?" Jim asked. "He's command."

"Hah! Is he? Tell me, Captain Kirk, are you enjoying your bridge right now? Missing a little competency, a little practicality up there by now I bet, not that you'd admit it." Scotty leaned back, proudly, clearly hoping for a fight.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Wrong Scotty, I do admit it. I want him back on the bridge. Why wouldn't I? He's an actual genius; he comes with tons of paperwork to document it."

"You and your jokes. Well, today you bit off your nose to spite your face," Scotty said, and Jim heard him think, {I'll leave you to chew on that. I'll go and share it with our Pavel. Maybe it'll improve the poor lad's spirits.} The commander stood up and said, "Come on, Keenser, let's take this down to engineering. We'll eat with the workers today."

Scott stomped out of the mess, followed by the still silent Keenser. The table seemed quiet after he was gone.

"Captain," Spock said, "I sometimes misinterpret communication that relies heavily on vernacular or sarcasm. I am not certain I followed the conversation between you and Mr. Scott."

"That wasn't you Spock, no one did," McCoy said. Uhura shook her head.

Jim said, "He's so angry he didn't say it very well, but basically, he was suggesting that by banishing Chekov I punished myself. I tried to explain that I'm not punishing anybody, but he doesn't care. He's really only mad because Chekov is upset."

Uhura laughed and said, "Wow, this is a first. I'm getting help interpreting from you. If nothing else, this mission is reminding me to be humble."

Jim sighed and added, "I learned something too." Uhura cocked an interested eye. "Scotty says whatever he thinks. Literally. Almost everything he thought came out of his mouth as fast as he thought it. That explains a lot, actually."

"I thought you were going to say you'd been reminded to be humble too, and then I really would be worried about you." laughed Uhura. "Can you imagine what it was like in engineering today, with Scotty furious and Pavel wandering around oozing depressed?"

"I'm guessing we'll get a bunch of stress headaches at shift change," McCoy said. "You don't need psychic abilities to feel it when those two are unhappy."

"Although I assure you, there are depths to their emotions I had no idea about," Jim said, "and I am hoping to lose the ability to appreciate them soon. In three more hours to be precise, if the relief navigator can remember how to use his board. I'm going back to the bridge. I am staying there; I don't care how boring it is. I can't take one more irrational outburst because someone takes offense at my perfectly logical attempts at running the ship."

He noticed the look Uhura and Spock exchanged, and it occurred to him once again that it was probably fortunate he couldn't read their thoughts.


	9. Bhaahaha

Chapter Nine  
Bhaahaha

Bhaahaha was mostly oceanic. Life had evolved in the sea and stayed there. The planet's continents barely rose out of the salty water and were surrounded by shallows that extended miles into the water. The planet's cities occupied these, running out into the ocean, on platforms and docks, long, low buildings built as much under the water as above it. The few structures on land were flooded with complicated pipes to allow the citizens to swim from room to room. Instead of roads, the cities connected by rivers. People traveled in transports that looked like large aquariums.

The crew of the Enterprise coalesced in the capital city of Brummmm. Specifically, they appeared on the swimway outside the History and Industry Building on the campus of the University of Mhreh. The water, chest-high on Jim, stirred gently as they materialized.

"Aah, jeez," Bones moaned, raising his arms out of the wet. He wasn't crazy about deep water, and only his concern that the Bhaahaha might try an invasive procedure to cure the captain had forced him into a wetsuit. He had complained since he'd joined Spock and Uhura on the transport pad to beam down with Jim.

A bloated gray face popped out of the water. Jim wasn't sure he recognized it, but Uhura, who was clutching a flotation device, immediately kicked over and began to coo deep, bassoon like noises. The Bhaahahan responded with similar sounds. After several exchanges, Uhura turned and said in Standard, "Allow me to introduce Commander Spock, the first officer on the Enterprise. You've spoken with Dr. Leonard McCoy, and James Kirk, our captain. Gentlemen, this is Professor Haapha Ruffferfaaf."

"It is a pleasure to meet all of you, and a special honor to meet the hero James T. Kirk," the professor said.

"The honor is mine," Jim said, hoping he sounded sincere and not in a hurry to be cured.

The professor studied Jim with his small sunken eyes. "You are eager to complete your understanding captain. If you will follow me, I will take you to meet the ones that will help you." He turned and dove below the water.

"Are we supposed to swim after him?" McCoy asked, sounding horrified.

"No," Uhura said, "I'm sure he expects we'll just follow along as best we can." She set an example, holding her floaty and kicking after the professor.

Jim patted Bone's shoulder encouragingly, then followed the professor into the single-story building behind them. Except when he was required to swim a few strokes to keep up, Jim walked, his feet sinking in soft soil he couldn't see beneath the gently moving waves.

The professor took them down what Jim supposed was a hallway. It flowed, like a stream, past large chambers that were probably classrooms. Students dropped PADDs to stare at them as they passed. There were few off-world visitors to Bhaahaha. Most Federation species were either land, air, or water-dwelling. Visitors tended to consider the facilities uncomfortable.

"This way," Rufferfaaf called and led them into a chamber lined from the floor below the water to the ceiling in the air, with shelves of porcelain tablets. Like most Bhaahahan buildings, it was open to the sky, atrium-like. Pale, cool light flooded the room. Large flotation devices, looking somewhat like big sturdy picnic tables, drifted about the room. Lounging on one were three more of the Bhaahaha. Seeing the crew, they flopped into the water and swam up, sharing a melodic greeting.

Haapha Ruffferfaaf introduced that the other Bhaahahans as the head of the antiquities department, Raffefr Fruun, and the head of the engineering department, Brrrafrra Ruhauaa. The third professor was a psychologist, Habraaa Raaahahahu. She invited them to join her on the loungers. The crew followed her example and hoisted themselves onto the large flotation devices and rested over them, half in, half out of the water.

"You have the artifact?" Ruhauaa asked. Spock opened a transportation kit. The wetsuits included gloves, but Jim thought Spock still seemed especially careful handling the device. The Bhaahaha leaned forward eagerly, rumbling to each other. Jim looked at the device curiously. He hadn't seen it since the robots had hauled it away. Floating like a frog on a lily pad, it seemed harmless.

The psychologist, Raaahahahu, looked up and said, "This is astounding."

"That the captain happened to put his hand out and somehow grabbed this?" Uhura asked.

"That is astounding too," Raaahahahu agreed. "I referred to my culture's short-sightedness in leaving a device like this available to be misused."

"Every use was a misuse," Rufferfaaf said gravely.

Raaahahahu replied, "I have done some research. The records of the time are not what we would wish, but the head behaviorist kept a diary. He mentions a resident who so resented the treatment that he actively sabotaged it. Apparently, this discontent took several of the devices and all his facilitator's notes and buried them in the bog. I wonder if Captain Kirk found one of those?"

"Was that one mentally defective?" asked Ruhauaa.

"No," the psychologist said, "the chief behaviorist thought it was possible he was angry."

"At members of the group?" Ruhauaa and Fruun said together, sounding confused.

"Astounding," Raaahahahu hummed again.

"Wouldn't you be angry if someone yanked you out of your house and hauled you halfway across the universe because you weren't good at playing well with others?" asked McCoy.

"No," Raaahahahu replied, shaking her shaggy head. "I would be pleased assistance was available."

"Sensible," Fruun said, and Ruhauaa nodded.

"It was perhaps heavy flippered, but anyone would wish to realign with the group," Raaahahahu agreed.

"The group responsible for throwing them off the planet?" McCoy asked.

"Assisting in their rehabilitation," Raaahahahu said firmly. "This device was state of the art at the time. It effectively addressed a serious problem. Our society's intentions were honorable."

"The effects," McCoy began.

"Gentlemen," Jim started.

"Gentle beings," Uhura corrected.

"Gentle beings," Jim agreed. "Do you recognize this thing? Do you know how it worked? Most importantly, do you know how to make it stop working?"

The professors looked at him with unblinking, watery eyes. "I know what it is," Raaahahahu said. "I know how to use it. There is a way to make it stop working, but you may not like it."

"Try me," Jim said.

Raaahahahu said, "For you to understand, perhaps I should explain it all. Our society values unity above all else. There was never any choice. The areas suitable for our kind are not great, even on this fine planet. It was considered essential our the limited resources be developed carefully, always considering the needs of the whole as opposed to the individual."

"Your people are noted throughout the galaxy for their cooperative nature," McCoy said, grudgingly.

"Groupthink is a core value of our society. As the foresires said..." The psychologist rumbled for several minutes. Eyes closed and flippers folded respectfully, her companions nodded. Jim looked at Uhura, who translated, "What benefits one of us benefits all of us."

"There was a similar belief on Vulcan," Spock said.

Raaahahahu nodded, "I have read the Vulcan philosophers. The needs of the many outways the needs of the few. Very similar, indeed. Although we might say, the needs of all can be met by the all. For us, the focus is more the benefits of communal decision making. Groupthink is instinctual to us, although we are trained from early infancy to act on those instincts." She paused, looked away, sighed, and lowered her voice. "Occasionally, nature makes a mistake, and a pup is born unable to consider the group. Usually, careful raising by good parents and a loving community can instill what nature did not. Rarely, some will continue to care more for themselves than for the group. It is considered a severe developmental failure, and occasionally, professional help, or even medication will be utilized to control it."

"Interesting," McCoy murmured.

"One of the reasons we consider failure to groupthink such a serious defect is that once our society tried to live as individuals, and nearly destroyed itself." The other Bhaahaha nodded mournfully, like a giant, wet, Greek chorus. Raaahahahu continued, "Long ago when our people first began to travel the cosmos, we observed that in other societies, beings lived differently. Our foresires experimented with allowing some individuals to make our decisions. Unfortunately, some of our people found autonomy to be intoxicating. They were unable to consider both their wishes and the needs of the group equally."

The Bhaahaha shook their heads and flapped at the water with their flippers and hands. "Difficult to even discuss," the linguist said with a sigh.

"The experiment led to the only war on Bhaahaha," Habraaa Raaahahahu said gravely. "The environmental degradation was nearly fatal for our entire population. At the peace negotiations, it was agreed the cult of the individual would never have a place on this planet. It was constitutionally mandated, and added as a tenent to our religion."

"Most religious societies consider their beliefs to be divinely inspired," Spock said.

"As do we, Haapha Ruffferfaaf said. "Divinely inspired by the group."

"Is the group considered a divinity?" Spock inquired.

"Are you inviting me to testify?" Rufferfaaf asked excitedly. "I would be happy to do so. As we all agree, it is seldom that one gets a chance to do so. The group as the divine is a fascinating concept. In the beginning..."

Jim exchanged a desperate look with McCoy, who cleared his throat and asked, "About the artifact?"

"You are right, Dr. McCoy. We must first deal with the captain's difficulties, and then I will have the pleasure of evangelization," agreed Haapha Ruffferfaaf. "Habraaa Raaahahahu, please return to the topic, and our society's efforts to ensure groupthink. It was after the war that the ancients found out how difficult it is to eliminate an idea."

Brrrafrra Ruhauaa, the engineer, interrupted, "Perhaps we could skip to the part that interests the Terrans. What my colleagues are trying to explain is that your device represents one method to help inharmonious individuals."

"How did it do that?" asked Jim.

Raaahahahu explained, "Every effort was taken to stamp out the cult of the individual. Unoccupied planet were found and facilities suitable for our kind established. Those that acted against the group were withdrawn from society and those most harmed recruited to help with their reeducation. You found one of the places they lived together until they learned to consider each other."

"That's it?" Bones asked. "Why did they need a machine? Couldn't they just talk it out?"

The Bhaahahan engineer said, "The device assured success. It formed a bond between the minds of those most affected. They would live together closely, sharing even their thoughts, until they came to understand each other. Having learned the other's needs are as valuable as your own needs, the individuals would return to Braaahaha and their lives here."

"Although a pleasure, speech is not a guarantee of reaching an agreement," Raaahahahu said.

"I have heard," Ruffferfaaf added softly, "that there are individuals who might imply they understood another without doing so."

"Shocking," Ruhauaa said.

"What about the victim?" McCoy asked."They were taken out of their homes, off of their world even, so that someone else could learn a lesson on tolerance?"

"Yes," said Haapha Ruffferfaaf.

"For the good of the group," Raffefr Fruun said. "Participation was mandatory, but it was considered a civic duty." McCoy scowled. Fruun added, "The historical accounts describe the accommodations as lovely."

"Fascinating," Spock said. "By involving both parties in the cure, there was never a reason to identify them as aggressor and victim. The goal was to create harmonious members of society by fostering empathy. I can think of no other penal program designed thus."

"Spock you are whitewashing the fact that they ripped people out of their homes and sent them across the universe to teach someone else how to play nice," McCoy said. "I don't care if it was an all-expenses-paid resort; it wasn't fair."

"It protected our society from the cult of the individual," Fruun explained.

"And once they got there," Jim said, trying to rein in Bones before he insulted even the easy-going Bhaahaha, "they were given the thing I found, formed a psychic link, stayed until they came to appreciate each other, then went home."

"That is greatly simplified," Haapha Ruffferfaaf said, "but essentially correct."

"The captain hears the thoughts of anyone who gets close enough, but only what they think about him," Bones said. "Why is that?"

"That is what identified the artifact for me," said the engineer. "It was designed to be specific about what thoughts were available to the co-learner. The goal was to foster an understanding of how an individual's actions made others feel. Hearing every thought of someone would not be necessary, or perhaps even helpful. No one would wish to share every thought."

Rufferfaaf added, "Appreciating how others view your actions is highly motivating."

"It can be," Jim agreed, somewhat unwillingly. He spun the floating table so that he could look again at the device. "So, all I need to do is learn to think of others? Okay, will do. What's next? Is there a pledge or something?"

"Captain, I don't think you understand. You experience the thoughts of many because you are the only one who has held the device," Raffefr Fruun explained. "When your disharmony partner holds the device, they too will develop a neural pathway, and the circle will be complete. You will hear each other, be able to begin to work on understanding each other. Once you do, the pathway will whither away."

"Disharmony partner," Uhura repeated doubtfully.

"Again," the psychologist explained, "in groupthink all are equal. Some are not considering their society as themselves, and some remember the wrongs of others. Either action prevents one from being an effective Bhaahahan."

"So, you're saying I need to find a disharmony partner," Jim mused. "How would I know who they are?"

The Bhaahaha exchanged glances and as a group, slid under the water. The chamber filled with muffled whistling and humming. After several seconds, Jim asked, "Uhura, do you have any explanation for what's going on?"

"They ordinarily have all their conversations underwater. There are auditory subtleties in their language that carry better that way, and it greatly facilitates the information being heard by larger numbers of the Bhaahaha," Uhura replied. "They're only talking above water because they're trying to make us comfortable."

"Larger numbers?" Jim asked.

"There are no secrets on this planet, captain," Uhura said. "Everyone is welcome to know what anyone does."

After several minutes McCoy asked, "Any idea how long their conversations generally go?"

Uhura looked doubtfully at their hosts; heads close together under the water. "Bhaahahan civilization is quite deliberate," she said.

"I'm beginning to pick up on that," Jim agreed.

It was nearly ten minutes before the Bhaahahans surfaced. Haapha Ruffferfaaf blinked at the crewmembers and said, "We are not certain."

"You know I need a disharmony partner, but you aren't sure how to find one?" Jim clarified.

"Worse, we are not certain what one is. It has been a very long time since such a thing was heard of in our world," Haapha Ruffferfaaf explained. "The surviving documents explain the procedure, but not terms the writers considered self-evident, such as disharmony partner. We assume it would be one you have failed to view as an equal."

"Well," Jim said, "according to everything I've heard this week, that's pretty much everyone."

"I do not believe everyone would be practical," Haapha Ruffferfaaf said seriously.

"I'll do it," McCoy said.

"Bones, I wouldn't ask that of you," Jim said, touched.

"I want things to get back to normal too, Jim," McCoy said gruffly. "I'm tired of having my meals interrupted."

"Excellent, the doctor then, is the one you most sense?" Haapha Ruffferfaaf asked.

"Do you mean the one I have the easiest time reading? No, he's not," Jim said slowly. "Is that necessary?"

"We are not certain of what is necessary," Ruffferfaaf said. "It only seems likely to us that would be a characteristic of your disharmony partner. Do you not agree?"

"I guess that makes sense," McCoy said. "Maybe I can't do it, Jim."

"No," Jim agreed. "I think we all know who I sense the most strongly. Do you think he's willing to be my disharmony partner?"

"I shall call the ship," Spock said.


	10. Petitioning Dionysus

After a great deal of underwater discussion, Brrrafrra Ruhauaa announced Haapha Rufferfaa would prepare Jim while he took the device to the engineering department, for some "quick study."

Spock nodded politely, closed the transport kit, and tucked it neatly under his arm, obviously planning to accompany it. The Bhaahaha looked disappointed but did not object. "Go with them," Jim whispered to McCoy. "Spock will try, but he's too polite. I want to get started. Someone's going to have to keep them on some sort of timeline."

McCoy nodded and went to stand beside Spock, folding his arms and looking ready for battle. Ruhauaa didn't seem to notice. He asked if everyone were ready and swam away. Raffefr Fruun and the Terrans followed. Since Uhura and Habraaa Raaahahahu had left earlier to return to the beam down site, Haapha Ruffferfaa and Jim were left.

"How do you wish to prepare, captain," Rufferfaa said. "Would you prefer to rest or meditate?"

"Neither," Jim said. "I'm ready."

"Perhaps then I will take you to the chamber we have chosen for the procedure," the linguist said. "If you would follow me?" He sunk below the water and began to swim the other direction the others had taken.

Jim kept up, paddling, or wading, depending on the depth of the water. Rufferfaa led him to a large chamber. Unlike the other rooms, its walls were transparent; there were no shelves of tablets to obscure the view of the dark water surrounding it. "This hall will be ideal for our purposes," Rufferfaa said. "The crowds will have excellent views."

"Crowds?" Jim asked.

"We have notified the entire campus. There are many students eager to see history come alive," the professor explained. "On Bhaahaha we have an expression, 'An experience shared is as every experience should be,' would be the translation. We would never deny others what we are eager for ourselves."

_You're very generous with my psyche, _Jim thought, but smiled diplomatically and said nothing.

"This room," Haapha Ruffferfaa continued, "was designed for the comfort of off worlders serving as guest lecturers. We are quite proud of it."

It seemed to Jim much like the other water-filled lecture halls he had seen at the university, round and open to the air. This one was larger and located at the back of the building, which provided a spectacular ocean view. As he looked about politely, there was a loud click, the water in the chamber shook, and the floor began to drop. It sunk gradually, exposing tall, steeply sloping transparent aluminum walls. It continued to decline until Jim was standing in an inverted cone, nearly two stories below the ocean surface. Water continued to drain into the chamber from the entrance, now well above them. It ran gently down the angled walls, but the water level around Jim held steady at his mid-chest. He could feel a gentle current pulling at his feet through the boots of his wetsuit. Somewhere below him, the water was draining out as fast as it poured in.

"This is impressive," he said.

"It will provide plenty of room for the students to watch," Haapha Ruffferfaa said. "They will begin to arrive soon. I hope I have just enough time to join the research team as it examines the artifact. We will return quickly, and the procedure will begin."

Ruffferfaa dropped below the water. Jim watched the dark outline of the professor's body shoot across the chamber and disappear, confirming the existence of an unseen, underwater exit. _Here, it's a door, _he reminded himself and wondered what constituted quickly on Bhaahaha.

With nothing to do or see, Jim rapidly began to grow bored. He needed to pace, inactivity was always hard for him, but the drain hidden somewhere under the dark water made him cautious.

Eventually, he heard voices. He saw Uhura, followed by Chekov, appear at the top of the chamber. He couldn't hear over the falling water, but she seemed to be giving instructions. She pointed to Jim as she talked, and Chekov nodded. He waved. She waved back and cupped her hands around her mouth. "He's coming down," she called, "We'll join you as soon as we can."

"When's soon?" Jim asked, but she had disappeared back down the hall. Chekov cautiously pushed himself down the sloped wall. He hit the water with a plop but came up quickly, immediately filling Jim's consciousness with excitement. _I've got enough to deal with without this, _Jim thought and retreated to the far side of the chamber.

"Stay over there," Jim ordered and braced himself for the usual onslaught of whirling thoughts. Chekov pressed himself obediently against the opposite wall of the chamber. Jim waited but didn't hear anything.

Nothing happened. No Bhaahaha arrived and, as far as Jim could tell, Chekov thought nothing. Curious, he analyzed Chekov's emotions and decided half an hour in neck-high seawater had barely tempered Chekov's mood. Jim could feel excitement and curiosity and a surprising amount of resolve. _How much of that is my own?_ The ensign didn't look particularly determined. He was huddled against the far wall with his head down, staring at the water.

_What's he doing?_ Jim wondered, and with nothing else to do, decided to risk wading across. He went slowly, thinking he'd back up if Chekov's rapid-fire thinking became too troublesome. His anticipation grew with every step, but he didn't hear anything.

Jim asked, "What are you looking at?" Chekov jumped, splashing water over his face. "Sorry," Jim said, then added, "You okay?"

Coughing, Chekov replied, "Yes, sir." {This makes it harder,} Jim heard. Chekov dropped his head and stared again at the water.

Jim looked skeptically at his navigator. The water, chest-high on Jim, lapped at Chekov's chin. _That can't be comfortable, _he thought. "We should get you a flotation device," he said.

Chekov didn't reply, not verbally and not in Jim's head, just hunched his shoulders and kept his head down. Jim couldn't help feeling a little irritated. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Jim sensed a spike in anxiety and heard, {It is rude not to look at him.} Chekov glanced up, "Nothing, sir," he said and quickly looked away.

"Are you afraid of water?" Jim asked.

Chekov shook his head without looking up.

"Then why are you staring at it?" Jim asked.

Chekov murmured, "I'm not, sir." Jim heard, {Why is he angry?}

Jim decided to be honest. "Chekov, this mission is not going so well. I'm not blaming anyone, but I'm not in a good mood. If I were you, I'd try really hard not to be annoying. Now, what are you doing?"

The navigator looked up, "Linear algebra, sir," he replied. "I'm assigning random values to the variables and running through formulas to see what I get."

"Why?" Jim asked.

Chekov shrugged, "I always calculate when I need to keep myself distracted."

"What are you distracting yourself from?" Jim asked.

"You," Chekov replied. Jim heard {Shouldn't he know this? It's his mission.} Chekov added, "It is harder not to think about what I see, sir, so I am trying not to see you." {Obviously.}

"Why would you do that?" Jim asked.

"Miss Uhura ordered it, sir," Chekov replied. {Why do the senior officers never seem to understand I have to follow orders?}

"Like that's gonna work," Jim laughed. Chekov smiled noncommittally. Jim heard, {He thinks I'm annoying? I spend most my life doing things he assumes I won't succeed at.}

Jim asked, "You can seriously not think about something if someone tells you not to?"

{I can when it doesn't talk to me.} Jim heard as Chekov replied, "I am trying, sir."

Jim said, "When someone tells me to not think about something, it pretty much becomes the only thing I can think about. I assumed everyone was that way."

"Have you tried algebra?" Chekov suggested.

Jim said, "I tried meditation. It turns out I'm not great at it."

Chekov replied. "They tried to teach us to meditate at the academy. I always ended up thinking about math. Now, I just go to the physics lab. It's peaceful and the clothes are less embarrassing."

Jim laughed. "I wondered why I couldn't hear you thinking."

"You can hear me thinking?" Chekov asked. Jim was surprised to feel curiosity, but no fear.

"As long as it's about me; didn't Spock explain?" Jim asked.

Chekov shrugged. "Mr. Spock said to requisition appropriate gear and beam down immediately. When I arrived, he said I should join you and wait for instruction from the Bhaahahan professors. It was Miss Uhura who told me to try not to think about you."

"Did she tell you anything else?"

"Stand still and don't talk."

"You'd probably like to know what's going on," Jim said.

"You do not owe me an explanation, sir," Chekov said, but in his head, Jim heard, {Yes, and quickly.}

"I came in contact with a Bhaahahan relic. Now, somehow I hear what other people think of me. The professors believe I can get back to normal if you're willing to help me complete some ancient ritual."

"Alright," Chekov said, nodding.

"That's it? Don't you have any questions?"

"No, sir," Chekov said. Jim heard, {How much will it hurt?}

"It didn't hurt me at all," Jim said quickly.

"You can hear me think!" Chekov threw his hands out excitedly, dousing himself again.

"Only if you're thinking about me, like, just now, you wanted to ask me if it would hurt, so I heard it. If you'd thought, 'I wonder if it will hurt,' I wouldn't have known.

"That is interesting," Chekov said. Jim heard, {Why did you pick me, how did it happen, how are you managing it, how did you learn what to do.} The questions came so quickly it was difficult to understand them.

He interrupted. "We picked you because you're probably the person on the ship I read most clearly, so the Bhaahaha think we're already partially connected."

"Really?" Chekov asked delightedly. His radiating pleasure was so intense Jim found it impossible not to smile.

"That's what the Bhaahaha say," he replied.

Chekov said. "What is it like?"

"To hear someone else's thoughts? Occasionally interesting, but usually, it's not great. It makes me second guess myself."

"Don't do that," Chekov urged. "Your ideas are good."

"Probably not all of them, but this way, I get confused about what's my idea and what's someone else's. It makes commanding the ship harder. And, I'm uncomfortable violating people's privacy. Thoughts should be private." Jim felt a surge of admiration from Chekov and decided he should be more honest. "I don't like knowing what other people think. It's made me question my motivation."

"Why?" Chekov asked.

Jim involuntarily stepped back from a wave of curiosity. "Never mind," he said quickly.

Chekov nodded and looked away. Jim heard, {Of course he would not wish to discuss something important with me.}

"It's not that," Jim said. Chekov looked startled and started to blush. Jim felt worse and said, "It's not you, Chekov. I don't want to talk about it with anyone. It's embarrassing. The truth is, I hadn't realized how much, seen from the right perspective, all of the things I'm proudest of were self-serving."

Chekov shook his head. "No one believes that."

Jim said, "I can tell you for sure; lots of people do."

"Who does?" Chekov asked seriously. "Is it Lt. Chen?"

Jim laughed then said, "Pretty much the whole ship thinks I'm selfish."

Jim felt shock and anger. "You are not selfish," Chekov said. "I have never thought that."

"No," Jim agreed, "you never did, but lots of people do."

Chekov said, "You jumped out of a starship to defeat Nero."

"Yeah, but think about it. It helped me as much as it did anyone else. Also, I had always kind of wanted to try something like that. And, remember, Nero killed my father. Even before I could read their thoughts, I've heard people suggest I went after him for revenge."

"But you didn't," Chekov said.

"I didn't think so," Jim agreed, "but honestly, maybe it was partly that."

Chekov shook his head, splashing the water. Suddenly Jim was blasted with words coming so quickly he could barely understand them. {Selfish? You never think of yourself, never. You saved the ship. I admire everything about you.}

"Chekov," he started, but the younger man interrupted. "No one who thinks this way should serve on the Enterprise. Tell me who it is; I will see that they understand the truth."

"How are you going to do that?" Jim laughed, but the anger got colder and he realized Chekov was sincere.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Geez, Chekov, I didn't even realize you could get that mad," Jim said. "Relax, I can take care of myself." He looked skeptically at his navigator. "Maybe you should go back to your math." Chekov gave him a resentful look.

"I'm serious," Jim said. "Do some math Chekov, now."

{Don't think! Think! Don't think again! He is lucky I consider him a hero,} Jim heard. Chekov nodded, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and began to murmur to himself through gritted teeth. Gradually Jim felt Chekov's mood mellow, and Jim's thoughts were entirely his own.

After all the effort he'd put into avoiding the ensign, it felt odd to stand next to him and hear nothing. It occurred to Jim that he could have avoided a great deal of trouble by telling Chekov not to think about him from the first. _I never even thought to ask. Maybe, if I'd told the whole crew someone could have helped. That's one way I am selfish_. _I never think about letting anyone help me._

Outside the thick walls of the chamber, Bhaahahan began to arrive. They pressed their huge heads against the aluminum, studying the humans, then swam off, joining friends to jockey for positions with good views of the room. _Those are the graduate students here for the ritual,_ Jim thought. _It won't be long now._

He shook out his shoulders, telling himself to get ready. The motion stirred up a small wave, it splashed over Chekov. "Sorry," Jim said again, annoyed with himself. _What the hell is wrong with me, I basically order him to look down, and then I try to drown him._

Chekov coughed, "Yes, sir," then blinked in surprise at their audience. "Look at all the Bhaahaha watching us. It is like being in a reverse aquarium."

_He's not even mad,_ Jim thought and said, "You know Chekov, you are a good guy."

Chekov smiled, and Jim got a shot of embarrassed pleasure that warmed his entire body.

There was a swooshing sound from far above them. Spock and McCoy slid down the waterway, followed by Uhura, still clutching her flotation device. The four professors threw themselves into the water after her. As they hit the chamber's base, a wave ran through the chamber, dousing Jim. He grabbed Chekov, who came up sputtering. Seeming oblivious. Habraaa Raaahahahu greeted Jim and introduced herself to Chekov, then slipped below the water and began to sing. Above and around them Bhahahan students crowded together gazing calmly at the humans. The chanting continued for some time. Students nodded and occasionally called back, their voices vibrating the walls of the chamber. Just when Jim thought he couldn't stand another second, Haapha Rufferfaag turned to him and said, "We feel ready to begin."

_It took that long to say, 'let's start?'_ Jim thought. He asked, "Could we use Standard? Uhura turned and glared at him. He continued. "The students have busy schedules, and I want to spare you the effort of translating." {He is so thoughtful,} someone thought in Jim's head. _That was Chekov, _Jim thought, _unless, could it have been me?_

The Bhaahahan professors lowered their heads beneath the water to discuss the suggestion. "You're trying to tell them how to conduct their ritual? It's their planet; you sound xenophobic," Uhura hissed.

"It's my ritual, Uhura. They are helping with it, and I want it done sooner rather than later," Jim whispered back.

Uhura didn't reply but "I think it is very kind of the captain to consider the students," Chekov said.

"You would," McCoy said.

_I knew that was you, _Jim thought and winked at Chekov over Bones' shoulder. He got a wave of happy anticipation that made it easier to ignore his own feelings of frustration. "It's a suggestion; they don't have to do it," he said soothingly to Uhura.

The professors raised their heads. "We have reached an agreement. It is your procedure," Raffefr Fruun said as the others nodded. "We will do as you wish."

"Okay," Jim said, "Let's get this show on the road. Should Chekov take hold of the artifact?"

"What specifically is the grievance you wish to address?" Haapha Ruffferfaaf asked.

"The grievance?" McCoy asked.

The psychologist, Habraaa Raaahahahu, asked, "Is it private? We do not wish the violate your cultural taboos. However, my research suggests the process, although designed for gradual discovery, can be greatly facilitated if you prepare yourselves by knowing the issues that will need to be acknowledged."

"That makes sense," McCoy said, "cooperate with these people, Chekov. Think about what you don't like about the captain."

"But, I like everything about Captain Kirk," Chekov said. "He is a hero."

"Oh please," McCoy said. "You're an ensign. He's given you plenty to resent."

"I do not always appreciate my orders," Chekov said, "but I do not question the right of my superiors to give them."

"Remember how mad you got when he was barring you from the bridge?" McCoy asked.

"You mean when he wished me to solve a riddle for him?" Chekov asked.

"You know, he didn't get all that mad," Jim said. "He was confused, but he took it in stride. As usual." A jolt of pride followed by warm pleasure radiated from his navigator. _Kid,_ Jim thought. _I kind of envy you for being able to feel happy like this; I may even miss it when it's gone._

"He teases you all the time. Why don't you think about that?" suggested Uhura.

Chekov said, "He does not tease me all the time."

"Told you," Jim said happily.

Uhura rolled her eyes.

"I do wish that I recognized it more often," Chekov added. "It is probably my fault. I should have a better sense of humor."

"Told you," Uhura said to Jim.

"You must focus on your disharmony," Habraaa Raaahahahu instructed.

"Disharmony?" Chekov asked, "I do not understand what that means."

The Bhahahaans exchanged looks. "The great areas of disrespect between you," Fruun explained.

"Disrespect? My captain is a hero," Chekov replied. "I admire him."

"That's a little strong," Jim laughed. "Thanks, though, Chekov. I appreciate it."

"Chekov," McCoy said. "Stop playing around and start thinking about what you don't like about the captain."

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied and stared at Jim.

"Are you doing it?" McCoy asked.

Chekov nodded. "Are you sure?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, sir," Chekov said earnestly.

Jim heard nothing. "You can't just say, 'yes, sir, and not do it, Chekov," he said with a sigh.

{I usually can do just that, sir,} Chekov thought, but all he said was, "Yes, sir."

"This isn't going to work, is it?" McCoy sighed.

{A hero!} Chekov thought fiercely in Jim's head.

"Probably not," Jim sighed.

The scientists murmured among themselves in their musical language.

"Is there a problem?" Uhura asked.

"Perhaps," the engineer said. "The device was designed to facilitate restoration. There does not appear to be disharmony between these two. We are concerned the ensign's handling of the artifact may render him as the captain is, unmatched and susceptible to all thoughts."

"Then he can't do it," Jim said.

"I can pretend," Chekov said.

"No, I won't risk it," Jim said. "We'll find someone else."

"I'll do it," McCoy said.

"I thought you did not experience areas of disrespect?" Rufferfaaf asked.

"I don't always agree with him, but I always respect Captain Kirk," McCoy said firmly.

"You're saying it should be someone who doesn't like me," Jm said.

"An individual you have trespassed against." Haapha Ruffferfaaf agreed.

"How about you, Uhura?" Jim asked.

"I like you," she said. "I don't like everything you do, or sometimes the way you do it, but I like you, and I always, always respect you. You have a hard job. I am grateful you do it so well."

"You think I'm an idiot." Jim pointed out.

"No, I don't."

"Uhura, I heard you."

"Oh. Well, every so often, I think you're an idiot. But sir, I think most people are idiots occasionally. It certainly doesn't mean I don't trust and respect you."

Spock cleared his throat and said, "Sir, I too am willing to participate, but I concur with Miss Uhura and think it likely my esteem for you as an officer and as an individual would render me unlikely to be of much assistance."

Jim blinked a few times before he could respond. "Thank you, Spock, and you too Uhura. I appreciate it very much," he said. After the week of self-doubt, he found the words of his crew moving.

"Yeah, sweet. It leaves you with no disharmony partner though," McCoy growled.

Jim looked at the professors and said, "Maybe we should try with Bones and see what happens. At least we know if he gets the Midas touch too he will have a much easier time finding people that don't like him."

McCoy snorted.

"Are there others among your crew?" Haapha Ruffferfaaf asked. "Perhaps someone you have more difficulty with?"

"How about Scotty?" McCoy asked.

Jim shook his head. "I know it didn't seem like it last time we were all together, but remember I can sense his feelings. Even while he's complaining about me there's no antagonism. I can tell he understands and feels certain I can do better. I mean, sure there's conflict, but we live in close quarters. We are going to have conflict."

"Then there is no disharmony partner?" Habraaa Raaahahahu asked sadly.

McCoy shook his head. "The crew admires, no, loves the captain. There isn't a single one of them that doesn't feel it is an honor to serve him." Uhura and Chekov nodded.

"Wait," Jim said.

"You've thought of someone?" Uhura asked.

Jim remembered unpleasant images of pigs and farms. "I think I have," he said.


	11. A Disharmony Partner

"I'm sorry, sir," As always, Sulu sounded composed. "You're saying you want me to send someone from housekeeping to the planet?"

Jim fought the desire to shake the communicator. _Calm, _he thought,_ can be so annoying._ "Not just anyone," he said, then paused, trying to think how to describe the young man. "Enlisted guy, Terran, tall, skinny, pale, always in a bad mood, he works the alpha shift."

"Do you have any idea of this crewman's name, sir?" Sulu asked doubtfully.

"I can't remember," Jim said, "but I heard Rand, um, use it when he was cleaning my chair. Ask her."

"Do you mean Adam Drexel?" Chekov asked.

"Drexel!" Jim shouted into the communicator. "Did you hear that Sulu? His name is Drexel."

"You want me to send a Mr. Drexel from housekeeping to the planet, sir?" Sulu replied.

"Yes, and as soon as possible," Jim said. "I'm eager to wrap this mission up."

"Aye, sir," Sulu replied. "I will notify you as soon as we locate the crewman."

"Kirk out," Jim said. He turned to Chekov. "How do you know this Drexel?"

"Everyone does," Chekov replied. Uhura narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Jim felt the ensign start to grow defensive. "Go wait for Drexel at the beam down site, Uhura," he said. "Habraaa Raaahahahu, perhaps you could accompany the lieutenant?"

"Yes, of course," Raaahahahu replied. "This way, Uhura."

"And I will attend to you," Haapha Rufferfaaf rumbled. "After the disappointment, you will need time to prepare yourself the coming ritual. Follow me, please." He dropped below the water and started to swim away.

Jim and his crew kept up the best they could as the linguist led them down the long swimway to a smaller classroom. Rufferfaaf left them after encouraging him to rest. Instead, Jim paced and resented the wait. His crewmates didn't help. He stood it as long as he could then ordered Chekov to take his anticipation into the hall. He waited until the ensign was out of range then turned to senior officers.

"We need to discuss what we'll do if this doesn't work," he said.

"It's going to work," McCoy said.

"If it doesn't you're going to have to decide if I can continue in command of the ship," Jim started, but there was a loud splash, and Habraaa Raaahahahu surfaced. "We have your next potential disharmony partner, Captain Kirk," she announced. "I have great hopes for this one. He seems quite unpleasant."

Lieutenant Uhura arrived, followed by Haapha Ruffferfaaf.

Raaahahahu looked around and asked, "But where did he go?"

From the hall, Jim heard a young man say, "What are you doing here?"

"The captain requested my assistance," Chekov replied proudly.

"Sure," the first voice laughed.

"He did," Chekov insisted.

"Why?" the young man asked, "Were they short of people to wander around, getting in the way and saying weird things?"

"Drexel," Uhura called. A young man appeared in the doorway. He looked pale and sulky in his wetsuit. Jim took a few steps back, eager to stay away from the young man's emotions.

"Do I get hazard pay for this?" Drexel asked. Although nearly as tall as Spock, he was holding very tightly to a flotation device.

"I'm not certain. What did Mr. Sulu say?" Uhura asked.

"To get a wet suit and get on a transport pad," Drexel said. "He never explained I might drown. Every time I asked a question, he said it was an order."

Uhura smiled kindly, "Bhaahaha is very wet, but remember, our suits make it almost impossible to drown, and all the local people are aware of humans difficulty with their environment. They will help if you have any difficulties."

"I'm not afraid," the young man sneered. Chekov hung curiously at the door but moved back out when he caught Jim's eye. Uhura swam up to Jim and said, "Captain, you may know Mr. Adam Drexel, currently responsible for the supervision of the alpha shift custodial droids."

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Drexel," Jim said.

The young man rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to clean up?"

Uhura looked up at Jim and said, "Perhaps, you should explain the mission?"

"This mission," Jim began, but he paused. It was harder to ask for help than Jim had anticipated. He turned to Spock. "You fill Mr. Drexel in." _Sometimes,_ he thought, _it is convenient to have a first officer who doesn't understand embarrassing_.

Spock nodded. "Very well. Captain Kirk came into contact with a Bhaahahan artifact that has made it possible for him to experience the emotions, and occasionally, the thoughts of others." Drexel sighed loudly and shifted from foot to foot as if bored. Spock continued as if he didn't notice. "The authorities here on the planet believe they can eliminate the artifact's influence by allowing it to fulfill its original purpose, which was to provide opportunities for understanding and respect between adversaries."

"Well done, Spock," Jim said. The first officer nodded.

"This has nothing to do with me," a scowling Drexel said.

Jim looked at Spock, who took the hint and replied. "The captain believes you may be the crew member who most dislikes him."

From the swimway Chekov called, "How could you not like Captain Kirk? He's a hero."

The young man grunted.

"Everyone doesn't have to like me. I understand," Jim said soothingly.

Chekov peeked around the doorframe. "He doesn't even know you. How could he possibly have an opinion of you?" he asked incredulously, then darted back out of sight when Jim looked his way.

"Plenty of people don't like him," Drexel said.

"I find that very hard to believe," McCoy retorted.

"There are," Drexel reiterated.

Bones asked, "Are you willing to help us or not?"

"I don't know," Drexel said. "Why does it have to be me? As I said, there are lots of other people that don't like him."

"We have some inside information," Uhura said, with a glance at Jim, "that suggests you are the one that dislikes him the most."

Drexel shrugged.

"As a member of Starfleet, you have a sworn duty to the safety of your crew members," Spock said.

He looks fine to me," Drexel said.

"The captain saved the Enterprise and everyone on it," Uhura said. "Aren't you grateful?"

"I wasn't on the ship then," Drexel mumbled.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You were on Earth when Captain Kirk defeated Nero. Every member of your family, everyone you have ever met, owes their life to him. Later, he prevented a galactic war by thwarting the traitor Alexander Marcus. It is difficult for me to understand your hesitation to help any sentient being. Your unwillingness to assist someone to whom you owe so much is incomprehensible. You have benefitted both directly and indirectly from his superior intelligence and strength of character."

Drexel said without enthusiasm. "I guess."

"You guess?" McCoy repeated. "Is that all you've got to say?" He turned to Uhura. "He guesses."

Drexel shrugged, "He's the officer. Weren't doing those things his obligation?"

"He damn near died!" McCoy growled.

"That's enough, Bones," Jim said.

Drexel asked. "What if I couldn't work or something? It could mess up my career. I wouldn't want that."

"Your career?" Bones scoffed.

"Are you making fun of me?" Drexel asked angrily. "You couldn't run that stupid ship without me; you'd be buried in garbage in a week. Your mighty captain would drown in cookie crumbs."

Uhura said kindly, "It's natural to be nervous, but there's no reason to think participation in the ritual will have any lasting effect on you. We anticipate it is likely to be at most only a few hours inconvenience."

Drexel said, "You don't know for sure. I wouldn't want to take the chance."

"Didn't you join Starfleet to have adventures?" Uhura asked.

"No," Drexel said. "My roommates threw me out. I needed someplace to stay."

"I wonder why," muttered McCoy.

"I didn't sign up to be a human guinea pig," Drexel said. "It's not my fault this happened, and it's not my job to fix it."

"I begin to understand why the ancients considered it essential to control the cult of the individual," Ruffferfaaf whispered in a voice like a foghorn.

"It is unfortunate that the young man is so obstinate," Brrrafrra Ruhauaa agreed. "He would unquestionably be a perfect candidate. His disharmony is remarkable."

Uhura leaned close to Jim. "Order him to cooperate," she whispered.

Jim shook his head. "No. He's right. We assume this will be safe, but we don't know. Outranking him doesn't mean I can command him to open his brain up for experimentation."

"I concur," Spock said. "It is never acceptable to force any sort of contact, psychic, or physical on another. For the captain to order a subordinate to submit to the experience would be reprehensible."

"When you say it like that, I know you're right of course," Uhura said, nodding. "It's just so frustrating."

"Tell me about it," Jim sighed.

McCoy frowned. "Let me take a crack at him," he said.

"Bones, seriously," Jim said. "I'm not forcing him to participate in the ritual."

"I get it, kid," McCoy said, "but I'm a doctor. After all these years of sticking my hands in people, I have a pretty good knowledge of what makes them tick. I know how to appeal to Drexel's better side."

"He has a better side?" Jim asked, doubtfully.

McCoy nodded. "Watch and learn," he said and swam over to Drexel. The young man scowled at him.

"Drexel," McCoy said, "I think you deserve hazard pay for today."

Drexel squinted at McCoy but didn't reply.

"We are asking you to do something exceptional, and your pay should reflect that," McCoy said. "I don't make that decision, but it concerns me. If you were to take part in the ritual, I'd want to keep you under observation for at least a week. During that time I wouldn't clear you to work, but you wouldn't have to stay in the unit. You could come and go as you please."

Drexel looked tempted. For a second Jim was hopeful, but then Drexel shook his head. "No."

"What is wrong with you, Adam?" Uhura asked angrily. "The captain of the ship is asking you for some help."

Drexel shrugged. "And I said no," he replied.

"That's it, then," Jim said, quietly.

"Yeah," Drexel agreed, "What do I gotta do to get back to the ship?"

Jim sighed. "Uhura," he said, "get Chekov and arrange a beam up for you all. Spock and I will follow with McCoy after we decide what to do with the artifact."

"Yes, sir," Uhura said gravely, looking scornfully at Drexel. "I am so sorry, sir."

Jim said, "Every member of my crew is entitled to autonomy of the person."

"Exactly," Drexel said.

"Let's go, Drexel," Uhura said, turning to the door.

"Don't let him just walk out of here," McCoy said. "He must help you."

"No, he has no obligation to me at all," Jim said but couldn't help thinking, _What'll we do now?_ _Does this mean I'll be this way forever?_

"What's the next plan?" McCoy asked angrily.

"I'm not sure, Bones," Jim said, "but I do know I have to respect Drexel's wishes."

From the doorway, Chekov said brightly, "Thanks!"

McCoy asked angrily. "Why doesn't he know when to shut up?" Jim held up his hand to keep Bones from speaking. Uhura and Drexel were in the hall. He could see Chekov between them, grinning happily. _What's he up to, _he wondered.

"For what?" Drexel asked suspiciously.

"You earned me 500 credits," Chekov said.

"How? Drexel asked.

Chekov said, "When Mr. Sulu told me what the captain wanted, I bet him you wouldn't do it. Five hundred easy. I couldn't believe he took the bet. Everyone knows you are a coward."

"I'm not," Drexel retorted.

"Sure," Chekov laughed.

Drexel said, "I just don't want to."

Chekov said, "I knew you'd be too afraid."

"Mr. Chekov," Spock's tone suggested he planned to continue, but Drexel shoved angrily past the ensign and waded up to McCoy. "Make it two weeks, and you've got a deal," he said.

"No," Jim said. "You've been clear this is not something you want to do."

"Done," Bones said. "To weeks on low activity observation. Ruhauaa, get the artifact. We've got a ritual to hold."

"Excellent, excellent," Ruhauaa boomed.

"I'll go with you," Drexel snarled, red-faced. "I'm not staying here with these...people."

"Certainly," Brrrafrra Ruhauaa said, "Please come with me, Mr. Drexel. I will explain the procedure and the history of the artifact. It will be a joy," and he began to swim out of the room.

Drexel paused in the doorway, "Still think I'm afraid, Chekov?"

Chekov shrugged. "You will never go through with it."

"Watch me, you little weasel," Drexel whispered.

Chekov said softly, "That is Mr. Weasel, sir, to you, and if you back out, I will tell everyone."

"Chekov," Jim barked. The ensign turned, eyes innocent. Drexel pushed past him to the swimway.

Chekov stepped into the classroom. "Yes, sir?"

"Stay over there," Jim said. "You're in trouble, and I don't want to risk feeling sorry for you. Did you hear me say I did not want anyone pressured into being a part of the ritual?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied.

"You deliberately disregarded my wishes," Jim said.

"I don't know that deliberately is the right word, Jim," McCoy said. "I think brilliantly might be more accurate."

"I disagree, doctor," Spock said. "Mr. Chekov disregarded the captain's preferences purposefully. That is, I believe, the definition of deliberately."

"Spock," McCoy asked, "is it wasted on you that it worked?"

"The lines of authority in Starfleet are clear, doctor," Spock replied and launched an explanation of expectations for junior officers. Uhura listened while Chekov stood at attention and McCoy huffed and rolled his eyes.

_I can't let Drexel do it,_ Jim thought. _In fact, I should probably apologize for involving him in this situation. Great, now I get to say sorry to the guy that makes oinking noises in my head. Thanks, Chekov._ He interrupted Spock to say, "I am the captain, Mr. Chekov. I expect you to obey both my explicit and implied orders."

"Yes, sir. I respectfully submit myself for disciplinary action, sir," Chekov said.

Uhura replied before Jim could, "Accepting responsibility doesn't make it go away, Pavel. We deserve an explanation."

_We?_ Jim thought. W_e don't deserve anything, and I don't want an explanation. I want him to do what he's told._

Chekov replied, "I knew I could make Mr. Drexel assist Captain Kirk and I did so. I accept responsibility for it, but I am not sorry."

Uhura continued, "Didn't you hear what the captain said about coercion and autonomy?"

Chekov shrugged, "I was in engineering that day. I saw what our captain did for us. If you had been there, you would understand."

Uhura closed her mouth and blinked, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. "Wow," McCoy said slowly, then turned to Jim. "That's like something you'd say, but somehow it sounds nobler coming out of him."

"Intention" Spock said, "does not excuse behavior."

"Spock, shut up," McCoy said.

"That's enough, everyone," Jim said. "Spock and Bones, no arguing. Uhura, breathe. Chekov, stay away from Drexel. If he changes his mind no one, and that means you, Chekov is to try and convince him otherwise. Those are your orders. Now, get out of here and let me think. I'll talk to you when I know what to do."


	12. Washing Hands in the Pactolus

Chapter Eleven

Washing His Hands in the Pactolus

Having sent everyone away, Jim was free to pace in the small classroom. It wasn't as satisfying as usual, the water slowed him down, but he kept it up, back and forth, alone until Uhura came to fetch him. "They think they're ready," she said.

She continued as they waded down the waterway to the lecture hall, "It took longer than I thought it would to set up. Brrrafrra Ruhauaa believes that, like all Bhaahahan technology, the relic will work best when wet. They brought a special container for it from the museum. They think it was what the ancients would have used originally for a procedure like this. The box submerges but doesn't sink. There are slots so that your hands will be in the right spots during the ritual. It's interesting."

"Okay," Jim said.

She looked at him curiously and added, "Ruhauaa has decided to record everything. That took a while, and the graduate students had all left. They had to be called to reassemble. I hope you weren't too bored."

Jim shook his head. "No, I needed time to think. I'm still not convinced this is the right thing to do."

"Oh?" she asked, paddling through an especially deep section of the waterway. "Are you having second thoughts about keeping the gift?"

"No, I want to get rid of it, but not this way. I've been going back and forth on what I should do since I threw you all out."

"What did you decide?" Uhura asked.

"To let Drexel decide for himself. I kept waiting to hear he'd changed his mind," Jim said.

"He's had plenty of time to back out," Uhura said. "He's made his choice."

"Did he?" Jim asked. "Or did Chekov manipulate him into doing what I wanted? On the other hand, who am I to decide Drexel is incapable of deciding that for himself? I don't want to be arrogant, but I don't want to be stupid either. I'm not sure what is right."

Uhura stopped. "Look," she said. "This is no time for you to suddenly develop scruples. It has to be hard being so aware of what others think, and I understand that you're extra sensitive right now. Drexel spent a lot of time in your head; naturally, you're looking at this from his point of view, but it's not helpful. Regular you would have done what Chekov did too, probably faster."

"Drexel was clear that he didn't want to participate," Jim said.

"But he didn't stop to think how he'd look like to the rest of the crew," Uhura argued. "We're lucky Chekov knows him well enough to realize he'd care." She reached out purposely and grabbed Jim's arm.

He looked at her hand and considered the concern, affection, and fear radiating from her small form. She squeezed his arm more tightly. "Look, Jim," she said. "Doing the heroic thing comes naturally to you, but it doesn't to most people. Most of us are motivated by a combination of not always altruistic motives. Yes, Drexel only agreed to do this to look important. It isn't noble, but it works."

She makes sense, Jim thought.

"You can't command if you worry about how every word you say affects other people," Uhura said. "Consider your crew, the vast majority of whom would die for you. We need you back to yourself."

_I hadn't even thought of that. What is more selfish, to insist Drexel not be manipulated or to do what so many people apparently want?_ Jim wondered. _I'm absolutely not qualified to know_. He heard Uhura think, {Captain, this is a chance. Take it.}

He nodded, "Okay," he said. "Let's go." Uhura smiled and patted his arm. He could feel gratitude and affection but still wasn't entirely confident he was doing the right thing. _I'll pay attention to what Drexel is feeling. If he's afraid, I'll stop the ritual. I might be selfish, but I'm not a bully,_ he promised himself then forced himself to wade slowly so that Uhura could lead him.

The crew, except Chekov, were huddled in the aquarium-like lecture hall. Bones had insisted the navigator wait out of range at the chamber's surface entrance. They watched anxiously as Jim and Drexel took positions on either side of an ornate submerged box. The device glittered like a jewel just below the water surface. The Bhaahahan professors began to swim in circles around the room and sing for the assembled students

_And, now we wait,_ Jim thought. Trying to be dispassionate, he tried to analyze all the emotions he was feeling. There was anticipation; he thought most of that was his. There was some fear, but there was more anger.

"You alright?" he asked.

Drexel, pale and unhappy looking, glanced at him resentfully.

"It doesn't hurt," Jim said.

Drexel drew himself up. "I don't care," he said. "I'm not afraid.

"I know," Jim said soothingly. "You're here. You wouldn't be if you were afraid." He wrestled with his longing to be free of the gift for a few seconds, then said, "You don't have to do this."

"It's worth it," Drexel said, then glared up at the entrance. He muttered something under his breath about weasels. He looked back at Jim and added, "Wait till I get back aboard. I'm telling everyone on board how I outsmarted him."

_It's ironic_, Jim thought, _that a device designed to create understanding and respect is leading me to despise an enlisted man I didn't even realize existed last week._

Suddenly, it was time. The Braahahan professors swam close. Uhura hugged her float, and Bones crossed his arms defensively. Jim put his shoulders back and shook his hair out of his eyes. Drexel sneered.

"Grasp the device Mr. Drexel," the psychologist, Habraaa Raaahahahu intoned.

Drexel hesitated, Jim felt his rush of fear, but the young man laid his hand across the relic.

"Now you, captain," sang Raaahahahu and Jim ran his fingers across the device until they rested in the divets. They tingled, and his knees fluttered. He got a rush of wonder, and heard, {How can he not be nervous?}

He thought _I've been doing this for a week, why would I be afraid? I told him it doesn't hurt,_ and heard, {Yeah, but it's still weird.} He had time to think, _I had time, with enough of that, you can get used to anything_ before it occurred to him that he and Drexel were conversing in his head, and it all made sense, which meant Drexel could hear him too.

"I think it worked," he said. "We're linked."

Habraaa Raaahahahu nodded and began to talk about disharmony. Jim felt jealousy and heard, {You even have to be the boss of this.}

_The boss of what,_ he wondered.

{Our disharmony treatment,} Drexel thought inside Jim's brain.

_Someone has to be in charge, Drexel, Starfleet decided it's me._

{And you agreed.}

_I'm not keeping you from doing anything. Do you want to talk? Speak up._

{Like you'd give anyone else a chance to do anything.}

_I would let you talk about your area of expertise._

{You'd have to, you obviously know nothing about it, Captain Piggie.}

The two of them glared at each other. Habraaa Raaahahahu said, "Now is the time to consider your grievances."

"Grievances," Drexel whispered scornfully.

"That's not possible," Jim whispered back. "You don't have any real grievances with me. I don't know you. I've never done anything bad to you."

Suddenly, Jim was bombarded with memories of his command chair, arms sticky with spilled juice, tables covered in crumbs, and apple cores that missed recycling chutes. _Seriously,_ he thought, _you can be mad about such petty little things? Do you think you don't bug people? _He remembered Drexel's whiny tone while he was dithering about whether he was willing to help the commander of his ship.

He could feel Drexel's anger intensify; then the enlisted man furiously projected an image of Jim sweeping out his arm to clear a long table, pushing aside a water glass and shoving a container of tools onto a pristine, polished floor.

_I remember that day_, Jim thought. _The sensors were out. We were running blind when I remembered the __star chart __posters. They were antiques and huge. The lab tables were the only __space __big enough to see all of them at once. We were in a hurry. I wasn't thinking of the floors._

{Exactly. You never think of the floors, or the person responsible for the floors. You don't think about anything but yourself.}

"See your differences for what they are, obstacles to unity. Feel the other's pain," Raaahahahu chanted.

_Nothing but myself? You're an idiot._ Jim concentrated on an image of a Klingon cruiser and thought, _did you ever consider that I was too busy saving the crew to worry about being tidy? We didn't know how many there were, just that they had us outgunned. Our only hope was to outrun them. _

He heard Drexel think, {You're selfish and you never consider anyone else. It wasn't a one-time thing. It's an all the time thing.}

Jim remembered how worried he'd been for his crew that day and thought, _you are ungrateful._

{You are thoughtless.}

_ I am? How about you? You know I could hear you call me a pig. Seriously, is that any way to talk about your commanding officer?_

{You can command me not to speak; you can't control what I think.}

_Fine, _Jim thought. _I would never think about another person that way. Not you, not anyone._

{That's easy for you. You don't think about anyone else ever.}

_I think about the crew every day._

{You rub your greasy hands on your chair, which has to be cleaned by hand.}

_I wasn't aware, _Jim thought, but Drexel interrupted. {You don't care. You are a big, selfish, messy pig that should be living in a sty somewhere and not wallowing in a captain's chair anyway.}

It had been a long time since Jim felt fury. His emotion superseded all of Drexel's. _You need to watch yourself, mister._

{I need to watch my thoughts? Even Starfleet isn't that controlling. I will think about what I want, just as you will secretly believe your work is more important than mine.}

_What? That's not a secret. My work is more important. I'm an officer, the top officer. The Enterprise is a military ship, there's a hierarchy, and the captain is the head. __I don't think I'm more important than you on a personal level, and I never said anything like that. __I believe every job is essential._

_{I am on your bridge every single alpha shift, and you didn't know I existed until you heard me think about you.} _

_I am your commanding officer, and I am not a pig._

{You're right, that wasn't fair of me. Pigs are careful where they eat.}

Jim barely heard Raaahahahu say, "It is when you can think alike that you can find harmony."

_Annoying whiner._

{Pig. Sooie.}

The psychiatrist chanted more encouragement, but Jim didn't hear her. He was too angry. Drexel felt the same. Jim could feel it. At the same time, in identical tones, both men thought, _{I hate you, and I want you out of my head!}_ And then there was a buzzing sound, and Jim's legs felt watery, and then, he felt nothing but his own emotions, and his own thoughts, and he knew, it was over.

"It worked," he said aloud.

"That didn't take long, are you sure?" Uhura asked paddling closer.

"I'm sure," Jim said, pulling his hand away from the device.

"They have reached agreement, and are in harmony!" Raaahahahu called, and the crowd erupted in muffled underwater cheers.

"Never again," Drexel gasped, splashing away from Jim to lean against the wall.

Raffefr Fruun said. "I can not believe I saw this with my own eyes. They were opposed, and now they demonstrate complete understanding. I feel the pleasure the ancients must have done, so long ago."

"Harmony achieved is lovely," Raaahahahu agreed, turning to Fruun and clasping the engineer's flippers in her own.

"I want a transfer," Drexel said.

At precisely the same time, Jim said, "You're getting off my ship, Drexel."

"Each understands the other," Haapha Ruffferfaaf boomed, in what was, for the Bhaaahaha, a quiet, awestruck voice.

"Good," Jim and Drexel said together.

"It is so beautiful," Raffefr Fruun said.

"I want to go to the Enterprise, Spock, arrange transport. Now," Jim said firmly.


	13. All That Glitters

Chapter Twelve

All That Glitters

"Sign here, then turn the page and sign every highlighted space," Rand said, pointing with a stylus. "Don't stop until you reach a blank page, sir."

"Rand," he said peevishly. "I've done this a few times. I know the routine."

"As you so regularly demonstrate, sir," she said. He looked at her suspiciously. She smiled blandly, the picture of innocence. It was a pleasure not to know for sure if she was sarcastic.

"And, with this signature, I agree to what?" Jim asked, scribbling his name.

"The usual things," she replied.

"Crew transfers?" he asked. At tactical, Chekov's head went up like a deer scenting predators.

Rand noticed too. Her eyes lingered on the navigator as she said, "Yes. We're scheduled to pick up six and drop off four at Starbase 12. You always like to have the paperwork done early, so there's no last-minute confusion."

"I do?" Jim asked, "or you do?"

She switched her attention back to him. "It's your routine, sir," she replied.

"Right," Jim said. "Is there a transfer for an enlisted man named Drexel?"

"From maintenance? Yes, it's in there."

"Excellent," he muttered.

"It's yours, sir. I just keep it organized," Rand said, "but I am routinely happy to provide clarification."

"Very funny," he said.

"Sir?" she asked. Her eyes were mocking, but her voice was concerned.

He handed her the PADD and said quietly, "You don't fool me, Rand, and I know you think I'm great."

She grimaced as if she'd tasted something sour, and started toward the turbolift, passing unnecessarily close to tactical. Chekov, who was checking the output from a damaged weapons station, had watched their conversation closely. As she passed, he tapped her arm and whispered.

"I don't discuss any of the paperwork I prepare for the captain," she said, holding the PADD tightly against her chest, "especially with you. You don't have anything approaching clearance."

He looked at her beseechingly.

Rand patted his arm and whispered, "You always look so cute when you're worried. I'm going to miss that." Chekov's eyes widened. Smiling smugly, Rand made her way to the lift.

McCoy, holding a medical scanner, exited the lift as Rand entered it. He asked, "How are you feeling this morning, captain?"

"I'm great doctor, as I have been every day since you started asking," Jim replied testily.

"I doubt that," McCoy said, pointing his scanner at Jim.

"Why would I lie about it?" asked Jim.

"You don't consider it is lying. You're always in a rush to get back up here, and I can't trust you to be honest with your symptoms."

"I don't have symptoms," Jim said.

"Mark my words; the stress of what you went through will come out eventually. I don't know how yet, but it will. " McCoy muttered. He waited for the scanner light to go green, then read it, frowning.

"It says I'm perfectly normal, doesn't it?' Jim asked.

"All that proves it's not eventually yet," McCoy replied. "It's only been a week."

In his command voice, Jim said, "Bones, I'm fine, the ship is fine, everything is fine. Let it go."

Giotto and five of his redshirted subordinates came off the turbolift. Seeing Jim, the chief froze and called, "Attention," The guards fumbled PADDS and tricorders but managed to salute in unison. "Good morning, Captain Kirk," Giotto boomed.

Jim blinked his eyes to keep from rolling them but returned the salute. He thought,_ I'd like to transfer Giotto while I'm at it,_ but said, "Good morning Mr. Giotto, crew." Calvo, leaned around her chief, smiling faintly.

Giotto nodded briskly, then continued to the weapons console and began to drill Hendorf, the duty officer, about the status of the repairs.

"I'm actually better than fine," Jim said quietly. Calvo glanced up and smiled again. He winked.

McCoy snorted, then started towards the lift. He frowned when he saw Chekov. Stopping at tactical, he asked, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing, sir," the younger man said sadly.

"You look like you've lost your last dollar," McCoy said suspiciously.

Jim leaned over his seat to get a better look. "What's wrong, Chekov," he asked. "You got the ennui again?"

Chekov blushed and muttered, "No, sir,"

"The what?" McCoy asked.

Chekov said, "Excuse me, sir, I should return to my station."

"Go ahead," McCoy said, but only crossed his arms and stared skeptically as the young man shifted awkwardly past him on his way to the helm.

Chekov slid into his seat. Sulu glanced at him and shook his head.

"What do you mean not yet?" Giotto asked angrily. Rather than reply, Hendorf pointed at the floor. The lower half of Montgomery Scott's body was stretched out behind the console. Giotto stepped over Scott's legs and glared down at the engineer. "Scott," he said. "When can I expect this thing to work?"

From underneath the weapons console, a muffled voice yelled, "Bloody hell!" Scotty wriggled out from underneath it and threw something halfway across the bridge. Security guards scattered nervously.

Giotto scowled. "Watch it, Scott. We're standing here."

"Watch yourself, Giotto," Scotty replied. "That thing's beam's so scattered it couldn't cut butter. The tools up here are useless."

"Is the console fixed?" Giotto asked.

Scotty's face reddened. "No. The whole insides are out of adjustment. I'll be at it for hours yet."

"What's the holdup?" Giotto asked.

"I just told you. The tools are useless."

Giotto sniffed. "It's important."

"Indeed, the repairs should be considered your highest priority, Commander Scott," Spock said. "The weapons console is an essential component of the ship's defense system, and the Enterprise can not be considered secure until it is functional."

"Oh, is that right?" Scott exclaimed. "So you're saying it's important? Well, there's a mystery solved. I've always wondered why we have a weapons console."

The red shirts looked anxiously at their chief, who said, "Glad to clear that up for you, Scott. Now maybe you'll get back to work."

"And maybe you'll tell your idiot underlings to stop kicking the thing. It's an expensive, precision piece of machinery. It wasn't designed to serve as a boot rest for moronic young giants as they lounge about doing absolutely nothing," Scott snapped. He looked around and said, "Pavel, run to my office and fetch my tool belt. A salad fork would be of more use than any of the trash they have up here."

"Yes, sir," Chekov said and looked nervously at Jim, his actual commanding officer. Jim shrugged and made a run along gesture with his fingers. Looking relieved, Chekov bolted for the lift. Scotty continued his rant on the inefficiency of the standard tool kits supplied with each station. McCoy listened gravely, nodding occasionally. As soon as Scotty paused for breath, he sidled over to the helm.

"What's wrong with your sidekick Sulu?" McCoy asked.

"Nothing important, sir," Sulu said.

"He looks miserable," the doctor said.

Sulu shrugged dismissively. "He does that. Ignore him, I always do."

"Yes, you do," Jim said, "but some of us are just too sensitive for that."

From her station at communications, Uhura snorted. It was delicate but detectable.

Jim leaned back and said confidently, "You have no idea, Uhura. It's kind of a curse."

"There are classes at the academy for that," Giotto remarked.

"For what?" McCoy asked.

"For guys too squeamish for the job," Giotto replied.

"Empathy Elimination 201?" asked McCoy sarcastically.

Giotto shrugged. "I don't know if they're any good. I've never been troubled with sensitivity."

Uhura turned away quickly to hide a laugh. The turbolift opened, and Chekov clattered across the bridge. He thrust a kit at Scott.

"Good man, now maybe I'll accomplish something," Scotty said with satisfaction.

"That was fast," McCoy said. "Did you run the whole way?"

"Yes sir," Chekov replied, sliding into his seat at the helm.

"Why would you do that?" McCoy asked. "It's a tool preference, not an emergency."

"Mr. Scott said run."

"It was a figure of speech, Chekov," McCoy said. "Do you always do exactly what you're told?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov looked over to Jim and said, "I try."

"He better," Giotto said, "What the hell else is a command track ensign good for?"

"Not managing communicators, that's for sure," Jim said. Chekov's shoulders sagged.

Scotty started to climb back under the console but popped out almost immediately and bellowed, "Why are you sitting there like a great toadstool, Pavel? I'm going to need someone who knows what they're doing to hand me things."

Chekov looked at Jim, who shrugged and nodded. Scott handed the younger man the tool belt and slid under the console.

"Try not to lose anything," Jim said. The younger man blushed and grasped the belt a little tighter. "Although, at this point, I suppose it doesn't matter," Jim added.

Giotto shook his head. "You and your banter. I got work to do, so I'll leave you to it." He tapped the console with his boot toe and called, "Keep at it, Scott. Let me know immediately when you finish," then started to the lift, his officers following closely. Before the elevator shut, Calvo gave Jim one last encouraging glance.

The console muffled Scott's voice. "Now I'm getting somewhere. I had no idea the standard kits were so bad. You should check the tools on every deck, Chekov. In the event of an emergency, we won't have time to be running about looking for decent ones."

"Yes, sir," Chekov said.

McCoy asked, "Wouldn't that be more engineering's job?"

"I am always eager to help, sir," Chekov said wistfully.

"Your attitude is exemplary, Chekov," Jim said. "I could use more officers like you. Well, our loss is some research station's gain, I guess. It's all for the good of the fleet, right?"

Chekov nodded, barely managing a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"Why? Where's he going?" Bones asked.

"I can't imagine," Jim said briskly, "but if Scotty got Delta Vega for losing a dog, what must it be like where they send people who lose communicators?" Chekov blinked, then gazed up at the viewscreen, forehead wrinkling as he tried to imagine worse than Delta Vega. Sulu made a skeptical noise. Uhura glared at Jim, who hid a laugh in his coffee.

Jim's private communicator pinged. The icon indicated a message from Uhura. He opened it and read, **STOP TEASING HIM.**

Jim closed the communicator and went over to communications. He bent down and whispered, "I can't help it Uhura, he practically asked for it. But don't worry. I'll let it drop soon. I told you; I'm sensitive now."

"You are not," she said scornfully. "You were so convincing when you talked about how much you'd learned having other people in your head. I shouldn't have believed you."

"I am sensitive," he insisted. Uhura shook her head and turned away, ignoring him. "Tell you what," he said. "I'll prove it. Watch."

He stepped into the middle of the bridge. "Attention crew," he announced, "I am going to do a little mind-reading."

"What?" Bones asked anxiously, "Are you feeling alright, captain?"

Jim continued theatrically. "Although I am not psychic," he nodded at the doctor, "a good captain is always aware of the emotions and thoughts of his crew. I will give a demonstration of my sensitivity. I will begin with Dr. McCoy. I sense," he rubbed his forehead dramatically and pretended to think, "he is concerned I may allow my enthusiasm to overcome my good sense."

"You don't have any sense, good or otherwise," McCoy growled. "Half the time, I'm not sure if this is a kindergarten or a spaceship."

Jim ignored him and continued, "Next, I shall read the thoughts of Mr. Chekov, standing here, so conveniently on my right. I sense, he is sad."

Chekov shook his head sadly. Jim corrected himself, "No, worried. He is worried one of the transfers I signed this morning was for him."

Chekov sighed loudly.

"Not that he blames me," Jim added.

Chekov shook his head again, perhaps more sadly.

"You do realize he only thinks that because you so sensitively told him that was your plan, sir," Sulu said, without looking away from the viewscreen. "Several times."

"Did I?" Jim asked as if surprised to hear it. He gestured toward Scotty's feet, sticking under the console. "Now we come, Mr. Scott, who I sense is alternatingly happy to be taking something apart and frustrated that he has to do so."

"Hah," yelled Scotty without moving. "That's for sure. Hand me my glux capacitor Pavel, the old one."

"Further, he is frustrated by his personal apprentice's accidental misassignment to navigation." Jim set both hands on Chekov's shoulders, "Don't worry," he whispered, "he'd never let me transfer you, even if I wanted to, which I don't. Okay?"

Chekov looked pleased and a little embarrassed. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"It was a joke," he added. "You do know what a joke is, Mr. Chekov?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov nodded enthusiastically. "Very amusing, sir."

Sulu shook his head. Jim smiled and continued, "Our Mr. Sulu, on the other hand, is thinking he can not believe that Chekov is so naive, and I am so clever."

"I doubt clever's the word he'd use," McCoy muttered.

"However," Sulu said, "I can believe Chekov's that naive."

"Miss Uhura," the captain continued, "is impressed by my abilities, and sorry she ever doubted me."

"Wrong," Uhura said, but a smile played around her lips.

He smiled back and said, "Finally, Mr. Spock is eager for me to finish my demonstration, as he considers this conversation to be a distraction from the useful work done on the bridge of a starship."

Spock glanced up from the science station. "Mr. Chekov, I have forwarded some reports to you, when Mr. Scott no longer requires your assistance, please check the statistics portion for errors and report back to me."

Chekov snappily acknowledged the order, by all appearances, back to his happy self. Sulu smiled at him fondly, then calmly refocused his attention on the stars. Uhura shook her head then turned to her work, murmuring to herself as she adjusted a frequency.

Jim returned to his chair. McCoy said, "So, obviously, you can't read minds."

"No," Jim agreed, "But I can tell that everything is just as it should be. Isn't that great?"

"Maybe, but how long can it last?" McCoy replied.

"I'm not sure. Let's ask Spock." Jim turned to the science station. "How did the story of King Midas end, Spock?" he asked.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "There are several versions, captain. In Aristotle's the king starved to death, unable to eat because everything that touched his mouth turned to gold."

"So, badly," McCoy said with some satisfaction.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Later versions describe Midas repenting of his gift and following Dionysius' instructions to wash in the river Pactolus. Those versions describe Midas as living the remainder of his life contentedly, sharing his wealth with the people he ruled."

"It ended happily, then," Jim said. He looked out at the stars and added, "I'll take that."


End file.
